Denial
by TLH
Summary: A Story of Tristan and his usual annoying resistance to open his heart and of the woman who can not give up her love for him. Takes place some years before the battle of Badon Hill - COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

This was my first attempt at a full length story which I wrote and posted on the Fallen Knights fansite a few months ago. I have taken the liberty of re-writing some passages as when I look back now there are parts that really make me squirm and think 'Did I really write that?' LOL!(well, it was my first go and I find relief in the fact that I _can_ look back at my work and recognise my own trashy writing and attempt to make it a little better!) But there are also moments that I am quite fond of, too.

**Disclaimer:** The knights do not belong to me, however much I wish it:( I make no money nor seekany from this story - it is purely for my own pleasure and hopefully some of you too. I do not apologise for the odd use of a quote here and there from the 2004 movie 'King Arthur' - they are just to darn good not to use! But I hereby aknowledge that they are not mine. Those of you who love this film as much as I, will know these lines the moment you read them.

Chapter one

The blistering, midday sun shone mercilessly down upon the two women as they raced, panting wildly across the parched & firm open ground. With the folds of their plain & simple dresses hitched up in their moist hot hands, they called & laughed to one another as they began the gentle ascent to the hilltop they had trampled countless times during their many years of friendship. They had been dear friends since early childhood. Cried together, laughed together, fought together and grown into womanhood together. For all their nineteen years, when they ran this familiar road they were like 10 year olds again and they loved it.

Upon reaching the brow of the hilltop, the two now breathless women had tumbled to the green earth and lay upon on their bellies, laughter still upon their lips. From here, they both looked out to behold the breathtaking view ahead. On the horizon, to the south, they could clearly see the long, dusty road appear. The oft travelled road that had, over the years, led many a weary traveller, company of Roman soldiers and even the occasional Roman dignitary to the colossal wooden gates of the Fortress walls.

But on this day, more than others in the past, there was a very different thrill in the air. Some weeks before, there had been whispers everywhere, that Arthur Castus and his Sarmatian knights were to garrison at the Wall.

Arthur Castus, a name that fell from everyone's lips, from the Romans and Britons of the south to the blue lips of the Woads of the north. The stories of their exploits so renowned, these knights seemed almost mythical to some and so the news of their anticipated arrival had caused quite a stir amongst the settlers and was the very reason the women had come to their favourite spot that day in order to be first to witness their appearance.

"Sarmatian knights!" Vanora cooed to her friend as they lay stretched out side by side, both resting their heads upon their hands.

She let out a sigh, gazing dreamily ahead, wrapping a lock of her beautiful long red hair around her petite fingers. For she was a true beauty and a constant, but a forbidden desire, for all the men folk and soldiers alike who longed to have her warm their beds at night.. Vanora was not unaware of the attraction she aroused in men, far from it. But she had always longed for more than just some peasant farmer or smithy for her mate.

She was not merely a beauty; she was intelligent & shrewd also. She was one lady who knew the value of virtue, especially in one as pretty as she. The imminent arrival of these both respected & feared knights was indeed, the prospect she had been waiting for.

Prue, on the other hand was quite plain in comparison to her friend. Long, dark tawny hair and eyes to match, she was not an offence to the eyes by any means but anything that may have been seen as interesting in her demeanour was always extinguished by Vanora's radiance. This had never concerned Prue; it had always just been that way.

Vanora had now sat upright and began her study of the horizon, the sun beating down upon her slender back.

"Do you think they will come this day, Prue?" she asked at length, her voice tinted with the distinct air of irritation, for Vanora was not known for her patient nature and indeed sported a temper that more than matched her flaming hair.

"That is the talk." Her friend answered with an ambiguous shrug.

Vanora huffed her impatience, finding her friend's casual attitude most irksome. But after a moment, the excitement returned to her voice as she spoke again.

"Imagine what they look like Prue!" She mused, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "They must be such handsome, fine men. Oh, the stories I've heard! They say they are from lands far across the sea, Prue. The sons of mighty Eastern Kings!"

Prue laughed heartily as she sat pulled herself up and claimed her place by her friend's side.

"And wear armour of pure gold, I'm sure!" she teased.

Vanora frowned at her friend's joshing and then added with a churlish tone and a curt toss of her pretty red head "Well, what would you know about it, anyway?"

"They will have the faces of soldiers, Vanora, battle scarred and weary. And they will drink and whore in our tavern, just like any other." Prue replied light-heartedly but as cynical as always.

Vanora's red head snapped round as she shot her friend an angry glare.

"Well…..they must be better than the pox ridden rabble around here, Prue, _surely_!" She hollered in desperation.

Prue smiled at her companion, but did not answer.

Prue, ever the calm, rational element of their friendship, always managed to bring the often harsh sense of reality to Vanora's dreams. Not from being the bearer of a joyless heart and certainly not from spite. Prue had her own fair share of fruitless hopes and dreams, locked secretly within and indeed, was just as excited at the prospect of the forthcoming arrival of Arthur and his Knights as Vanora. But being forever in the shadow of a vibrant, beautiful friend had over time brought Prue to see that her own dreams were just that - dreams that would never be fulfilled. Such circumstances would have rendered a lesser friend, bitter and resentful but instead Prue had just become practical and non-expectant of life.

Silence fell between them once more as the two friends sat in contemplation of what the unfolding day might bring. The warm summer breeze gently caressed their faces and the hot sun flamed upon their backs. They remained as such for sometime.

Without warning, their quiet & thoughtful mood was shattered by the sound of Vanora's excited yell

"Look Prue!… They come!"

Sure enough, there they were, shadowed against the sunlight on the horizon. Prue felt a sudden jump in her heart as excitement returned to her body with a rush.

They gazed upon the approaching riders for a little time without words or motion.

"I see only seven riders, Prue; could that be _all_ of them?" Vanora shot a quizzical look at her friend who simply shrugged in reply.

"Come on! Let's run down and get a better look"

Not waiting for Prue's reply, Vanora galloped off down the hillside with Prue chasing close behind her.

When the women reached the road, they stood side by side eagerly watching the approaching horsemen. Slowly, as the riders grew closer, Vanora's mouth began to twist in slight confusion & bewilderment. These seven knights were the most bedraggled, filthy bunch of saddle tramps she had ever seen! With the exception of the commander and perhaps the dark knight by his side - misfits! No livery to speak of and what leather armour they wore soiled with the unmistakable pain and bloodshed of recent conflict. This was not what Vanora had expected, not what she had expected at all!

The weary warriors rode along in shabby formation, one or two at a time, and were now approaching near to the place at which the women were stood. Vanora regarded them beneath a dark, disappointed frown and then exclaimed far too loudly than was fitting

"_These_ are the great army of Sarmatian knights!"

Prue giggled a touch nervously lest the men had overheard her friend's remark and added quietly "Princely sons of eastern kings, 'ey Vanora?"

The first of the knights now approached, their commander Arthur whosat tall & proud in his seat at the helm of the troop. Prue considered him closely as despite their first thoughts to the contrary, his noble radiancewas felt socommanding, that both women almostdropped to thedusty roadin a respectful curtsy.

As Arthur rode by, not once moving his head from the view forward, he momentarily cast his eyes down to where the women stood & Prue swore she saw a faint knowing smile whisper across his lips. She felt her cheeks begin to glow at the knowledge that he had indeed heard Vanora's discourteous remark.

The dark knight riding just a little behind the commander turned his head to look directly down at them. Prue regarded with amusement, his handsome face, untidy mop of black curls & dark, devil-may-careeyes.

He bowed a simple gallant greeting towards them.

"Ladies" he said slowly and smiled such a wicked smile that Prue was sure he was imagining what they both looked like beneath their smocks! The colour rose furiously to her cheeks & she quickly looked away from him.

Further down the formation rode a giant of a man. Prue could see that his fine-looking shaven head was marred by a cruel looking scar that ran the length of his face. He too, smiled at the women but did not speak.

Next her eyes rested upon a smaller but powerful looking knight. His long, flaxen hair sporting wild braids & a whiskered face, gave him the look of a proud lion. He rode along laughing loudly at some unheard jest or other, not paying any heed to the audience by the roadside.

But Prue found her attention drawn inexplicably to a rider taking up the back of the troop.

The man that commanded her notice was bent slightly forward in his saddle, hand to his mouth he seemed to Prue to be licking at his blood spoiled knuckles as his body swayed to & fro with the rhythm of his handsome, grey stallion's steady strides.

"Must you do that, Tristan?" came an appeal from the youngest looking of the Knights who was riding by his side. The abhorrence in his voice was clear for all to hear but the one to whom it was aimed, simply replied in a very distinct but low, austere tone

"You should try it someday; you might get a taste for it"

The remark was quickly followed by the chuckles of the others & general good natured banter began. The young knight shot a brief look of disgust toward the man once more, and then urged his mount on in order to elude his obvious repulsion.

On the contrary, Prue was held mesmerised by the knight named Tristan. She had no idea why exactly. He was different than the others, she sensed that immediately. Not just in his looks, which she found strangely pleasing, but his whole demeanour. To Prue, his manner seemed rather detached from his comrades, serious & slightly edgy - dangerous almost.

He did not laugh or join in with the others carefree chatter, but instead, lifted his handsome, rugged face to the sky and whistled long & loud. Startled slightly by his unexpected call, Prue watched, smiling now, as he stretched out his long slender arm towards the blue skies. When she looked up to where he aimed, she caught sight of a magnificent hawk. The creature let out a piercing cry of salutation and then swooped down in almost total silence, landing gracefully upon the man's gauntleted hand.

Tristan was now approaching the spot where Prue stood transfixed. As he caressed the bird's velvet breast, she heard him utter gentle words of affection under his breath.

"Where you bin, now? Where you bin?"

As she watched, she saw the ghost of a smile kiss the sharp rugged features of his whiskered face & Prue thought it the most beautiful face she had ever seen.

As Tristan went by, he glanced down briefly at the woman who stood smiling & watching him. As if by instinct, their eyes met.

Strangely, the woman held his gaze and for a moment Tristan was fascinated when the usual sense of unease failed to grace her plain but not altogether displeasing features. Instead, he found the woman to be smiling at him. A genuine, warm smile, something that Tristan rarely inspired in those that he met, especially women, accepting those he paid for of course and their spurious smiles were of no interest to him.

'She is not beautiful' the Scout thought to himself as he rode by, 'But……'

That the question of her beauty had come to him at all slightly troubled the scout. Women & their attractions were never of any concern to him. They served a purpose when a man's need required it, beyond that; physical beauty was of no importance to this knight.

But, the moment of contemplation was brief and so it passed him by almost unnoticed. Any memory that it had ever existed at all was swiftly pushed aside & dismissed as he continued on to his journeys end.

It had not passed by unnoticed for Prue, though. Her heart had leapt when his gaze had met hers.

She had not seen a chilling promise of death lurking there, as many another before her had seen. Nor did she see a cold, empty soul that lingered long after the killing was done. She saw radiance in those eyes, dark & mysterious - shrouded, but not hidden, by long ruffled locks which caressed his fine, ornamented cheek bones. She was totally lost in his gaze and could not look away. Captivated & at the mercy of this unusual man. She wanted to speak, but could find no words. She wanted to reach up and touch him, but could not move. For a woman like Prue, attraction such as this was thought to be the fancy of fairytales. Before this moment, she believed it could not even exist. It was as if unseen hands had reached within and curled their fingers tightly around her soul.

Suddenly, the spell he wove was shattered as quickly as it had been cast, by the sound of Vanora's high pitched laughter. She was now a little away from Prue, walking alongside the horse of a rather stout, shaven headed knight. He was bellowing loudly & Vanora, whose previous disappointment seemed now forgotten, was clearly taken by his attention.

She heard him laugh "Do ya like apples, my pretty Lady, Do ya? Cos I gotta a lovely apple tucked away that I wouldn't mind sharing with ya!"

The knowing laughter among the men was not lost on Vanora, as she slapped his thigh in mock affront & laughed cheekily back at him. Prue stood motionless watching her friend as she continued her mischievous & coy flirtation with the man. Her eyes then rested on the back of retreating Scout. Prue knew her ordinary and non-expectant life was destined, never be the same again.

She watched and waited. But he never looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for taking time to read and review my story. Your kind comments are most welcome and greatly appreciated.**

CHAPTER 2

The seasons had passed by one by one and summer was once again chasing away the last moments of spring. It had been almost a year now, since the day Vanora and Prue had stood watching with excited eyes, the arrival of the Sarmatian knights. With them, they had indeed brought the winds of change that the two friends had wished for, although sadly, not a change that was welcomed by both.

Vanora was now wife in all but name to the burley, shaven headed knight Bors. They had been constant companions since the moment of their first meeting on the road. Bors was brusque, loud and crude but held a heart that was as loyal and true to his woman, as it was to the knights he considered his brothers.

The recent arrival of a strong healthy baby boy, who sported a flash of fiery red hair and a temper some scream that more than matched that of his beautiful mother, had brought with him such pleasure. Just the thought of the babe and of the wonderful woman who had blessed him so, made his lion heart burst with pride.

In truth, Bors never could quite believe that such a beautiful creature as Vanora had chosen him as her lover. Although, being the proud, bull headed man he was, Bors would never be heard to confess it as so. It never the less ceased to amaze to him and caused, at times, bouts of jealousy so uncharacteristic of the normally devil-may-care knight. This unusual new trait of course, had not slipped by the ever sharp eyes of Lancelot. The dark, handsome knight made much sport from Bors' insecurities and relentlessly flirted and teased the rather _too_ receptive Vanora, in full view of her lover.

For all her owning of a flirtatious nature and her love of attention from the men – to Vanora, it was nothing more than innocent gaiety. Bors was her man and she had grown to love him more than she would ever have imagined possible. One look into the sparkling, emerald eyes of his lady was always enough to calm the raging lion in Bors. No man, however unsure, could mistake the absolute devotion that shone there.

But, the last year had not been so kind to her friend Prue.

The knights came and went as their military orders demanded. Every time the watch tower sounded out their return upon the oncoming horizon; Prue and Vanora would run out to road, waving furiously, their relieved and excited welcome home to the men. And every time, Prue hoped & prayed that this would be the time Tristan would finally unfurl.

But all her longing was in vain. Whatever the man's secret thoughts and feelings were – if indeed he possessed any at all, which Prue was now seriously beginning to doubt – he kept them securely locked away from all.

Over the many months of acquaintance, Prue had smiled at him, frowned at him, chatted to him and ignored him, yelled at him and once, even made a rather dismal show of flirting with him. When it came to the art of enticing glances and flirtatious banter - Vanora, she was not. And of the reciprocating of such encouragement - Lancelot, Tristan most certainly was not.

The whole embarrassing episode had quickly developed into a very awkward and thus, mortifying moment that Prue swore she would never live down and would forever, pale at the memory of.

But with every endeavour she made - nothing. He never rose to any attempt of society from Prue.

He continued to be aloof, difficult and sometimes, just down right rude.

He treated her with seeming indifference. He tended to avoid her eyes at all costs and rarely – if at all-spoke to her. Then it was often nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt if he were so inclined.

She had long since given up any hope that he would have any interest in her that would reach beyond her filling of his ale mug. She thought constantly that had she been blessed with the beauty and sparkle of Vanora, then she would have had him begging at her feet for her smile. But she was not beautiful - she was just Prue – plain and ordinary. Why would a man like Tristan show her any regard?

With every rejection, her longing for his attention and love, had slowly and painfully been twisted until all that was left was bitterness. This simmered quietly inside her heavy heart and had painted a cruel look of sadness across her young face which she had neither the ability nor the inclination to hide. She longed for the merciful feeling of indifference to release her weary soul, but as yet, she was still powerless to fight the desire he aroused in her whenever she was in his presence.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Prue had cast her anxious eyes over the crowds in the tavern time and again, searching as always for Tristan among them, but he was nowhere to be seen. The knights had been in preparation for the morrow's journey, a call to the west where unrest had been rumbling due to frequent raids by the Woads from the northern territories. Arthur and his men had received orders to travel across to the western settlements, gather what intelligence they could and flush out the Woad enemy responsible, once and for all. Preparations now all complete, the men had wandered over to the Tavern for a drink or two before retiring for some well needed rest before their arduous journey the following dawn.

Prue hardly noticed the arrival of Dagonet and Lancelot as they sauntered up to the bar in search of their usual beverage to quench their rising thirst.

"Evenin' Prue" Dagonet spoke first. On hearing his familiar deep, dulcet tone, Prue snapped from her thoughts, look up and smiled affectionately at the big man.

"Hello Dag, Lancelot," she nodded a greeting to both men and added "Ale?"

Dagonet nodded and smiled gently back. Lancelot winked and then scanned the room for a pretty face to sit upon his lap.

Dagonet watched every move as Prue reached for a half filled flagon and poured two large mugs for the knights.

She carried such an air of sadness in her smile that whenever he looked upon her face it was enough to send a dull throb beating through his lonely heart. Over the past months, he had grown to care deeply about this sad woman but he knew that she had eyes for another and that it was his indifference that caused her pain.

But he was a patient man and would wait, hoping that the toil of her unrequited love would eventually fade and die and she be released of its bondage. Maybe then, Dagonet hoped, she might see him as he now saw her, and take him into her heart.

As she carefully handed the brimming mugs to the men, Dagonet began to chat away and Prue smiled politely back in answer, hardly hearing a word and unable to stay her attention from scouring the crowds for any sign of the scout. Her wandering, anxious looks past his shoulder did not go unnoticed by Dagonet. He seen them so many times before and knew who her eyes searched for. He stopped his talk and heaved a despondent sigh.

"He won't be over tonight, Prue" he said quietly, a sad look clouding his grey eyes. The words quickly grabbed the attention he longed for as Prue finally looked towards him, wide eyed and lost for words. The sudden awkwardness she felt was thankfully dispelled by the appearance of Vanora.

"Who's forgotten their provision pack then?" She shouted loudly, as she thumped a heavy leather saddle bag upon the bar next to Prue. "I thought Jols had taken them all over early on."

Dagonet glanced over. "It's Tristan's" he murmured "I'll take it over to him, later"

Prue's heart gave a flutter, as it always did at the sound of the scout's name. Lancelot immediately cast his dark, teasing eyes upon Prue.

"Knowing Tristan, he'll want it now." He mused, smoothly "You know the man can't rest until every piece of kit is just so." With a dark mischievous grin spreading across his face he added "Prue, my dear girl, why don't you run across with it now. He'll be most grateful, I'm sure."

Picking up the provisions, he held them out invitingly towards her.

Prue flushed, she knew Lancelot was making fun of her as usual. He knew her feelings towards the scout and thought the whole scenario highly amusing indeed.

Vanora gave a scowl at Lancelot's mischief "Leave it there, Dag will take it" she snapped haughtily.

But before anyone could say another word, Prue had gathered up the satchel in her arms and was gone. Vanora cursed under her breath and shook her head despondently, while Dagonet lowered his disappointed eyes and walked silently away.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Prue stepped gingerly inside the stable, surrounded instantly by the warm glow of the torches that seemed almost to beckon her in. She looked but could see no one within and so made her way towards the stall where Tristan's grey stallion stood, rested and groomed.

The horses within stirred a little as her gentle footsteps passed them by and so Prue offered them soothing words of reassurance, which calmed them instantly.

Still a little nervous but disappointed not to have found Tristan there, Prue placed the leather pack down amongst his other carefully placed kit next to the stall, knowing that he would find it easily on his return. As she turned to leave she noticed his thick woollen cloak hanging over the wooden stall gate. She knew it was Tristan's without even considering it. She knew every inch of that man, from the seemly unconscious habit his tongue had of gliding across his lip every once in a while, to the sound his boots made as they strode across the reed strewn tavern floor.

A small smile crept upon her face as she stared, affectionately at the heavy, garment. How many times had he wrapped that cloak around his body, shielding himself from the ravishing wind and driving rain? She thought for a moment how she wished she could be that cloak, enfolding him with her love and shielding him from harm. Prue reached out and ran her hand gently down the length of the finely woven cloth, stopping to gather it between her fingers she brought it slowly up to her face and softly caressed her cheek. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his scent.

'Tristan' she whispered, smiling as she breathed him in again, the pleasure filling her heart for just an instant and then being chased away as always, by the thought that he would never be hers.

The fleeting moment of pleasure was replaced by pain that gathered in her throat and threatened tears to waver upon her lashes. Prue lowered her head in sadness and watched as the fabric slipped lightly from her fingers. As elusive from her touch now as Tristan, himself, would always be.

An unexpected rustling of hay startled Prue from her melancholy and she shot around just in time to see a figure rising up from hay bale in the opposite stall behind her.

Her eyes widened & her face flushed as she found Tristan stood staring straight at her. Wearing just breeches and boots, his chest bare and his hair tussled even more than usual, it was obvious she had disturbed him from his sleep. Saying nothing, he took a slow step in her direction and then leaning upon his shoulder settled himself upon a wooden pillar. He remained silent, silhouetted within the dim light which rendered his expression invisible.

Prue felt her heart drop to her feet. How long had he been watching her? Had he seen her ridiculous caressing of his cloak? Had he heard her whisper his name?

'God in heaven, open the gates of hell and swallow me up, I beg you!' she cried inside.

"I brought your provisions" she spoke finally, her voice unsteady, "I…I didn't know you were here... Jols must have forgotten to..." Prue bit her lip and curled her toes, the embarrassment excruciating.

Tristan neither moved nor spoke.

"I left them there…" she made an erratic gesture in the direction of his kit and then clasped her hands tightly behind her back. She then proceeded to twist her fingers painfully over and over, desperately trying to stare anywhere but at the scout's lean, muscular body.

Silence fell once again until.

"I hear you leave early tomorrow... that you could be gone sometime." Prue was trying so hard to sound natural and easy but it was useless her trying to stay the tremor in her voice and her cheeks still flushed intensely with every moment. Still he did not speak, but Prue could feel his gaze burning through her. 'Why does he not speak, have I angered him?' she thought anxiously and then hurriedly continued,

"I…I hope you have a safe journey...and… and that…"

Tristan suddenly leaned up from the post, giving a low rusty cough as if clearing his throat and moved a little closer, this time stepping into the light of the nearby torch. Now Prue could see his features, unmoved and expressionless as always. Although she could not see his eyes, his face spoke of only indifference and disinterest to Prue. As he nonchalantly scratched his fingertips through the dark curls upon his chest, the shy, embarrassed glow in her cheeks slipped rapidly away as she grew pale and the tense anticipation she had felt, fell from her body and was replaced by a heavy, dark sorrow.

'My words are nothing to him,_ I_ am nothing to him.' Her heart wept. With her eyes brimming with tears once more, she spoke one last time, her voice sounding broken and hoarse,

"No matter what, I pray you return home swiftly and unharmed, my lord." With that she turned on her heel and was gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The knight's absence had proved a long one and as such, of great personal torment to both Vanora and Prue. Vanora had found comfort for her lonely heart through her own unselfish support of her desperately unhappy friend. She was all too aware of Prue's love for that good-for-nothing Scout and was at a complete loss to understand what on earth attracted her to such a cold & arrogant heart. The eve of their departure Vanora had found Prue hiding away in the larder, sobbing uncontrollably. She had flown to her side and gathered her up in her arms.

"Oh, Prue! Prue...what ails you my sweet?" She cried, then immediately, her tone turned to anger as she demanded "It's that bloody Tristan, isn't it? What's he done now?"

Prue shook her head furiously and sobbed "Nothing, I swear, he's done nothing."

Vanora held her friend closely and spat "He's done something, Prue – I am no dim wit, the only tears I've ever known you to shed are caused by that man."

Prue let out another uncontrollable sob "I love him, Vanora. I love him so much and he doesn't even see me. Why couldn't I have been born as beautiful as you? He would see me then."

"Prue, you are beautiful! You are the most beautiful person I know. You have the kindest, sweetest heart anyone could wish for."

"Who sees a kind, sweet heart, who doesn't see fair of face first Vanora?"

Vanora's heart tore at her friends words.

"A man _worth _having, that's who!"

Poor Prue, Vanora knew all too well how much she loved him but what could she do? If she could heal her friend's heart she would, if she could weave a spell to give her the love she craved, she would, despite her dislike of the man.

Even though Prue had never spoken of it, Vanora had soon become aware of her friend's growing affection for Tristan. In the beginning, she had hoped that it was nothing more than infatuation that would run its natural course and be in time forgotten, albeit an infatuation that Vanora was a loss to understand. But no, much to her despair it had done nothing but grow an envelop Prue to such a degree that this was the pitiful state she was reduced to. How Vanora despised that scout.

Just lately though, Vanora had also become aware of the growing attention the quiet, but incredibly arresting knight, Dagonet had begun to bestow on her friend.

'Dear Dagonet,' Vanora had thought, for she was fiercely fond of the gentle warrior. He was a towering man with a heart every inch as huge as his gigantic frame. He always seemed so temperate and shy around Prue, as if he feared his hulking statue may frighten or harm her in somehow. The way he stood at the tavern bar night after night, patiently waiting for any moment he may capture in which to engage Prue in gentle conversation and how his eyes would follow her every move around the tavern, gave Vanora the sincerest hopes that just maybe Prue would succumb to his shy, tender courtship and begin to forget that disparaging Scout. But sadly, Prue had seemed almost as oblivious to Dagonet as Tristan was to her.

With another barrage of sobs, Vanora held her friend to her breast tighter than ever.

"You have to let it go, Prue, for your own sake. Look what its doin' to you. I can't remember the last time I saw happiness in your eyes, my sweet friend. You deserve so much better!"

Prue allowed the tears to fall freely as she stood within the circle of comforting arms, her head downcast to the floor, feeling Vanora's warm hand stroking away the hurt from her tawny head.

"He is incapable of love, Prue. You're far too good for the likes of him. You heard the rumours; even the wenches don't like him. How can you possibly still care for a man like that!"

Vanora's words struck through her heart leaving her almost unable to stay standing. Of course she had heard the rumours. Had not every whisper left her tormented & wretched? It was not the whispers of his 'preferences' or lack of them that broke her heart but the mere knowledge of him in someone else's arms she found unbearable. Sometimes she saw him leaving the tavern dragging some wench behind him by her arm. Those were the worst nights of all for Prue.

Night after night she had lain, alone & desolate, tears soaking the linen beneath her face, wishing desperately that he would hold _her_ in his arms. Imagining the touch of his lips upon hers, the caress of his finger tips across her warm skin, only to remember it was someone else's lips that felt his touch as she lay there in broken hearted despair.

Lord god! How she hated the way he made her feel! Vanora was right, she had to try to let go before it destroyed her completely.

Her sobs calming now, she leant up from Vanora's embrace and wiped the tears from her stinging cheeks.

"You're right, Vanora" she sniffed "You're always right" Prue heaved a weary sigh and resigned to herself that from this moment she would push all thoughts of him from her mind and completely ignore him from this day on. That way, if shewere able to avoid his presence then maybe, just maybe she would be able to nurse the wounds he had left and her heart would be free once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**My sincere gratitude to you all for reading and for taking the time to review! I cannot thank you all enough. **

**_Lucillaq_, I agree, poor Prue – there's nothing more heart breaking than being in love with someone who you feel hardly notices you exist. I know Tristan came over as very mean but I hope that this chapter will show you a little more from his point of view. But, then again, he does get meaner! Thank you so much for reading.**

**Thank you _Knightmaiden_ and _Jessipurrmalfoy_ I'm so glad you are both enjoying it so far. I will update as fast as I can, I promise. But I'm not the fastest of writers! lol! **

**_MedievalWarriorPrincess_, your continual support and encouragement are so gratefully received and appreciated. I can't thank you enough! Revel in your madness, my friend – I shall meet you there! LOL!**

**Summary – **The knights have been back at the wall now for a few weeks, following their latest time away. After the somewhat embarrassing moment in the stables on the eve of the knight's departure, Prue is now trying hard to push Tristan from her thoughts and accept that he will never care for her.

**Chapter 3**

It was the usual rowdy evening in the tavern as Vanora & Prue busied themselves as always, feeding and watering the hungry men and women. True to the promise she made to herself, Prue had neither spoken to Tristan nor even looked in his direction since his return, some three weeks ago.

She had not accompanied Vanora to wait upon the south road to welcome them home, as was usual when the guard tower sounded their approach and she had made deliberate and long detours in order to stay well away from the location of their quarters. Any where in fact, that chance might lead her to happen upon Tristan's presence. The tavern, on the other hand, was unavoidable.

There was drinking, whoring and typical high spirited merriment all around the torch lit tavern.

At one table sat Bors and Lancelot, engaged in a game of dice. Lancelot was winning of course and at Bors's bawdy shouts of protest; Vanora had clipped him sharply across his shaven head & exclaimed

"Bors, what have I told you about playing dice with him 'ey? You can't even count for Gods sake!"

"He's bloody cheating again Vanora! I'm tellin' ya!" he shouted back, rubbing his stinging head and frowning over at his smirking companion.

"Best of three, Bors?" came Lancelot's smooth & amused request. Vanora shook her pretty red head in distain, grumbling away to herself as she wandered off to serve the other thirsty revellers.

Next to them sat Gawain, a buxom wench on his knee as always. He loved his drink almost as much as his women, so of course, was very drunk and in great spirits.

Across from him sat Tristan. Long legs outstretched in front of him, chin on his chest and a blade held tightly in his deft fingers, whittling skilfully away on a small, inconspicuous piece of wood. Quiet and detached as always.

Across the room, Prue had just drained the last of the ale from the large flagon she held in her hands and was about to make her way back to the barrel in order to refill. Tristan had been watching Prue, as he always watched her, secretly and unobserved from beneath his down-cast brow. He had barely seen her since his return and she was so obviously ignoring him. He found this to be of great irritation and had been feeling a rather dull & heavy mood of late, which he found difficult to shake.

It was rather like the feeling he had experienced on his return this time, when he had looked out expectantly to see Vanora and Prue as always, stood waving their furious welcome to them all. But, for the first time, Vanora had stood alone.

It was the same aching mood that he had sensed, all too intensely, the whole time he had been away.

As his eyes followed her light figure meandering through the crowds, his thoughts turned to the early days here at the wall and of his first acquaintance with the woman his sharp eyes now watched so keenly.

At first her attention had been nothing more than a source of annoyance to the scout. She was always there to fill his mug whenever it ran dry - constantly yakking away at him and smiling.

He could never quite understand why she seemed to favour him above the others but favour him she did and back then, he'd wished fervently that she would take her bothersome prattle and untiring smile elsewhere.

He had never been a man recommended for his manners around the fairer sex. Admiration and flirting were not among the many talents he sported and most certainly were not ones he had the least wish to master.

If a woman wanted flattery and empty sweet talk – then they could have Lancelot or Gawain. He thought such foolishness a waste of energy. He had not met a handsome woman yet who didn't know the favours Mother Nature had bestowed, without being told so. Why should he waste his breath on flowery words meant only to boast their overbearing vanity and ultimately get them on their backs? Coin did the job just as well, he found and needed only the effort it took to spill it from the purse.

But even he was not so cynical as to be blind to the reality that Prue was not one of these women.

She was not beautiful, he had thought on occasion, whatever beautiful is – and he doubted any man had ever told her anything to the contrary quite simply by the distinct lack of vanity in her demeanour. She neither courted nor expected admiration from anyone, not even himself. That she so desperately _wanted_ his admiration was a knowledge he had eventually begun to comprehend - but _expected_ it, she most certainly did not.

When she had spoken to him all he saw in her eyes was genuine affection – sometimes clouded with sadness, sometimes anger and on several occasions, embarrassment, but always affection. This had constantly puzzled him most. Why him?

He had neither encouraged her attention nor responded to it. At first, because he simply had no wish to. More recently, because he simply didn't know how.

When she had come to the stable that night, he knew he could have tumbled her in a moment. Neither coin nor words would have been needed. He could merely have reached out for her and she would have been his. He couldn't deny that the thought had raced through his mind as he had stood watching her from the shadows. But something deep within him had held him back.

Tristan was not akin to the feeling of deep emotions, but when he heard her voice so softly whisper his name as she caressed her cheek with his cloak, he had nevertheless felt himself deeply moved.

He had been lost for words when, startled by his movement, she had spun around to find him standing there. Her face so clearly mortified at his having born witness to her private moment.

He had just stood there looking at her. His desperate struggle to find the words to ease her discomfort hidden, as always, behind his expressionless veil

When he had finally approached her in order to speak, he saw her face grow desolate and pale. She had stuttered words about wishing him safe on his journey and then fled out the stable door before he was able to stop her, leaving him at a loss to understand what he had done to cause her such pain.

For a short while he had pondered on what to do next; he'd even dressed and gone over to the tavern, albeit with no idea what he should say to the woman, when he got there. But, he needn't have concerned himself. He'd waited a while but she was not to be seen again that night – only Vanora, who'd thrown him the most vicious of looks at every opportunity. Even Dagonet had appeared distant and unable to meet his eyes.

Ah yes, Dagonet! He had noticed the attention she had been receiving these days from his tall friend. He was to be seen often of late, leaning at the bar, making use of every available chance to talk with her. Tristan was aware of him stood there right now. Dagonet smiled at her far too much for Tristan's liking and she too, at him.

The scout realised at that moment how long it had been since she had smiled at him that way. With a sudden stab, the heavy mood he carried became a sharp pain which caused Tristan to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Never before had he experienced a feeling such as this.

He had no idea when this peculiar mood of his had begun in regard to Prue. It had not been an instant attraction by any means. She seemed to have tiptoed, almost unseen, into his very being and now wrapped herself tightly around it, refusing to let go.

He frowned at the thought and bit down hard on his lower lip.

Tristan could see her approach in the corner of his eye now and as she passed by, saw his opportunity to steal her attention.

"Ale and something to eat!" he growled, immediately cursing himself for such a curt and boorish remark.

There was a momentary pause in Prue's step as the unexpected demand registered; biting her lip painfully, she stayed her desire for a furious retort and instead marched off toward the stove without a word or a glance towards him.

Standing behind the bar now, she glowered across at the scout who was sat with his back to her, the anger bursting within her. How dare he speak to her that way!

Without even a single thought she snatched up an apple from a large wooden barrel beside her and hurled it with all the strength she had, at the back of his arrogant head.

It would have been a mighty shot, had it hit her intended target, but the apple had whistled straight passed him and crashed across the table of a couple of startled Roman foot soldiers.

'Damn that insufferable man!' she screamed silently, enraged at herself for missing.

The scout saw the apple come whizzing past his head and knew instinctively from whose hand it came.

He smiled to himself, but did not move. He just continued his whittling, seemly unfazed.

He had her attention again, finally. He liked that feeling.

The familiar hearty guffaws of the knight Gawain bellowed through the usual tavern noise as he had witnessed Prue's attack & it had amused him greatly.

"Tristan, how do you do that?" Gawain asked, shaking his head in bewilderment while caressing the thighs of the wench upon his knee.

"Do what?" Tristan replied as he drew in his legs and sat up in his chair.

"Go through life so utterly unaffected? What you need is a good woman to share your life my friend. It would do you good, lighten your mood!"

"_Women!_" grunted Tristan contemptuously, whilst carefully replacing his blade in the sheath that hung at his side. "They're good for only one thing!"

A statement such as this from Tristan a few months ago would have been an honest reflection, but even as the words fell from his lips Tristan felt a curious sense of male bravado and untruth beginning to surface. Something he himself had never displayed before.

"What's that then, Tristan?" Came the roar from Bors, who had now given up the fruitless dice game for the more enjoyable task of swilling ale. "Cookin'?"

Bors was laughing uncontrollably at his own wit and Tristan bore the ridicule as he bore most things in life, silently, with nothing more than a sharp glance at his tormentor. He had little sense of humour today and was less than impressed.

From her position behind the tavern bar, Prue had heard all that had passed between the men and felt her anger ever more at Tristan's easy disregard for her kind. Cursing viciously under her breath yet again, she slopped a ladle of broth unceremoniously into a wooden bowl, filled a large flagon of frothy ale and marched back to Tristan's table. There she slammed down the bowl of steaming stew under the downcast shaggy head of the scout. As it hit the tabletop the impact sent the hot broth spluttering out across the sleeves of Tristan's tunic. He moved back slightly, flinging his arms out widely in order to avoid the offending bowl. He sat very still, the thick, steaming liquid, now beginning to drip slowly from his outstretched sleeves with an undignified plop on to the table.

His fellow knights fell into quiet amusement for a moment, taken aback by Prue's show, but waiting with great interest to see how their unpredictable friend would react. Dagonet shifted a little uneasily at the bar, not quite as amused as the others, as he too tried to anticipate the scouts move.

Tristan simply lifted his head slightly and looked at Prue from beneath his dark brow.

She had never looked as beautiful to him as she did at that moment and he almost broke into a smile thinking what a brazen pup she was to challenge him like that. But instead of a smile, a faint frown passed over the scouts face, fuelled by the startling charge of emotion he felt. He fought the sensation back, as he always did.

"And you can damn well pour _that_ yourself" she snarled slamming down the flagon of ale with equal passion.

Gathering his feelings back together, Tristan merely gestured with his hand to Prue to get on and fill his mug. The typical audacity of the man proved once too many for Prue, so inflamed was she, that she let out a sharp cry and grabbed the handle with all intents to pour it over his arrogant head, but as if anticipating the woman's thoughts, Tristan's hand shot out and quickly enclosed over her tiny fingers, preventing her from raising the heavy flagon.

Never before had she felt his touch and the moment it left her breathless. His slender fingers felt strong and warm enclosed around her own as they were, just as she had always imagined they would and she swallowed painfully as a gasp fought to escape her lips.

She lifted her gaze from their entwined hands and found his eyes starring back, almost hidden behind the familiar curtain of his dishevelled long hair. What she saw there confused and troubled her.

Had she been a woman of self confidence and experience, she would have understood all too well what smouldered beyond that dark, dangerous gaze and rejoiced in her triumph.

But she never had understood the thoughts that haunted this man and this look that simmered within him now, least of all.

Powerless to contain her desperately guarded feelings of love and desire any longer, Prue wavered on her feet as the tidal wave of emotions flooded painfully back through her heart, the agony of it almost finishing her there and then.

'Gods above!' she thought miserably 'will my soul never be rid of this man?'

At that moment, her eyes traced across the downward curve of his mouth and the desire to kiss him screamed through her whole being. The heat rose up through her delicate white neck & flushed her cheeks and she felt the sharp sting of tears beginning to build on her lashes. She turned her face from his lest he should see them there and quickly snatched back her hand from his firm grip, almost upsetting the flagon of ale as she did so.

So confused & distressed was she then, it was all she could do to cry out

"You filthy, heartless, shell of a man!" Then turning quickly on her heal she hurried away, back to sanctuary of the tavern kitchen.

Slowly & without a word, Tristan relaxed back in his seat, picked up his spoon and began to eat.

Awkward silence ensued for a mere moment until Gawain began chuckling and slapped Tristan on the back laughing,

"You know, I think she likes you, Tristan!" he slurred drunkenly. The momentary tenseness of atmosphere was dispelled in an instant as all the knights seemed to relax and amusement once more returned. All, that was, except for Tristan.

Bors & Lancelot both joined in with the laughter. Tristan continued to eat.

"My dear Tristan" Lancelot cut in "If her attention bothers you, you know I will gladly take her off your hands. I have a little spare time and I'd soon put the smile back on her face!"

"You'd might as well, Lance!" roared Bors, now back in his usual boisterous humour "He wouldn't know what to do with her anyway!"

Tristan put down his spoon and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic, stood up and made a move to leave. He had watched Prue's flight through the kitchen door and had also seen Dagonet put down his ale and follow after her. Tristan was restraining his rising anger with everything he had.

As he turned to go, he stopped and with a sideways glance at Lancelot, he raised one eyebrow and said with a faint, humourless smile resting on the corner of his whiskered mouth.

"You know, we're all gonna die someday, Lancelot. You touch her and your someday will be a hell of a lot sooner than you think"

The laughter erupted again and as Lancelot watched his retreating friend he too, laughed along. But deep in the pits of his stomach he felt the slightest disquiet. He never had felt at ease with Tristan's jests!


	4. Chapter 4

**_MedievalWarriorPrincess _wouldn't you just have loved that apple to have hit him? lol! I know I would!I am thrilled that you are enjoying this story so much; I am having a lot of fun re-writing it! Thank you so very much, my friend!**

**_Lucillaq _LOL! Tristan a 'sorry mutt!' – So true, I love it! You have to feel a bit sorry for him though don't you? He's led such a loveless life, I guess he never really considered himself worthy of someone's genuine affection before and the poor lad certainly has no idea how to reciprocate it. _Morwen12 _Thank you so much, I'm working hard on getting these updates out as quickly as I can, I promise. I'm really touched that you like this tale.**

**_Knightmaiden_ – Thank you too, so very much. I'm desperate for them to be together as well but you know that Tristan – he's so unpredictable!**

**A huge thank you and heart felt gratitude to you all for reading, my only hope is that you continue to enjoy it.**

**CHAPTER 3**

Prue stood in the stiflingly heat of the kitchen, her back to the open door way, her head bowed in her hands. The tears fell readily, but silent upon her now ashen cheeks. As she wept, her sorrowful moment was broken by the sound of a familiar, deep and gentle voice

"Are you alright, Prue?"

Startled, Prue looked swiftly over her shoulder to see Dagonet stood there. His mighty frame filling the doorway and his huge hands held in front of him as he began rubbing the length of each of his fingers, in a rather shy and apprehensive manner that was so conflicting with his fiercely powerful stature.

"Forgive me, Dagonet," she replied, hastily wiping away the tears from her face. "I'm fine, honestly."

Prue immediately lowered her head and began shuffling around the bowls and plates on a large wooden table in a vain attempt to appear in a steady disposition.

But Dagonet was not fooled by the charade and seeing how pale and desolate she looked, he felt desperate to sweep her up into his arms and soothe away her demons. But the shy and hesitant nature that always became him when around this woman, held him fast to the place were he stood.

It was her very air of sadness that had drawn him to her all along. He had always held a natural and over whelming desire to care for and protect those in need. Although a fierce and brutal warrior in battle, he was also an incredibly noble and honourable man. A man of deep feeling who bore only too well, the visible and the unseen scars of torment left upon his kind and courageous heart - torment born from years of mindless conflict and slaughter.

Night after night he had sought her company, in the hope that with his gentle offer of friendship, he would be able to lift her spirit and ease the sorrow that so visibly shadowed her face.

It was never his intention, but over time, his concern and consideration for Prue had grown into an emotion far deeper and more loving than he ever would have expected.

Although she had never spoken of it to him, Dagonet was well aware that it was the agony of the unrequited love she held for his friend Tristan, that was the cause of her unhappiness. One look at the expression her eyes wore whenever the scout walked into the room told the whole story. Only a fool could be blind to such deep and intense emotion. He also knew Tristan was no fool and it was this knowledge that had made him feel somehow responsible; as though he was duty bound almost to make amends for his friend's shameful disregard and thus had impelled him to befriend her.

"Why do you allow him to do it, Prue?" Prue looked up sharply at the sound of Dagonet's question and still in a ridiculous attempt to hide her distress, replied hastily.

"I don't know what you're talking about Dag, really I don't" continuing her pointless clattering of dishes from one place to another as she spoke.

Dagonet sighed and considered his reply carefully. It was now or never. This was the moment he had waited for. If he didn't confront her now, he never would.

"You know of whom I speak, I am no fool Prue," his voice was steady and gentle as always but as he continued his tone began to rise "You lay your heart at his feet and he just tramples right over it. He is my brother Prue, I love him dearly but when I see how cruelly he throws your love back in your face I could just…"

"No Dagonet!" Prue stopped his rising words of anger immediately. She left the table and stepped quickly up to him, placing a hand high up on his chest beseechingly. "Do not speak so, I beg you. I will not stand here and let you speak of your friend that way. He did nothing to encourage my attention, nothing at all. God knows he has done everything but! My pain is of my own doing. You must not blame him!"

Dagonet instinctively gathered up the hand at his chest and enclosed it tightly within his own. He looked down at the pleading face staring up at him and longed to reach down, take it tenderly into his hands and kiss her tiny quivering mouth.

Fighting his need, he cleared his throat nervously and continued

"I know that your heart is a prisoner of another, Prue… and I know that I can never hope that you could ever love me as you do him, but….. your affection and respect, I know I do have and that would be enough for me if….."

"Dagonet, I…." he silenced her words quickly as he placed a gentle finger upon her trembling lips. With a long, deep swallow and an anxious intake of breath he persisted

"Please, you must let me speak now, my lady, or I may never again find courage enough to do so."

He took a moment of composure and went on "I would be a good man to you, Prue; you have my word and I have enough love for both of us. I know this scarred face of mine is hideous and..."

Prue reached up high and held his face, fresh tears now glistening in her eyes

"Dagonet, sweet Dagonet. Your face is_ not_ hideous, you are a _fine _man and one any woman would be proud to call their own."

Dagonet looked down sadly at Prue, wishing desperately that the words she would speak next would be the words of reciprocal love, but knowing they would not be.

"And I do love you, Dagonet…. but as a sister loves a brother. I can offer no more than that while Tristan holds my heart. I know he will never love me, but I still love _him_ and it would be a cruel and wicked sin for me to deny it to you." Her tears began to flow; the pain she was causing him tearing at her soul.

Dagonet anxiously grabbed Prue's arms and pulled her closer. Her weight, nothing more than that of a feather in his giant's grasp.

"Do you think I don't know that!" he pleaded desperately "It is of no matter to me! I love you, Prue and in time your love for him will fade, I know it! I am a patient man and I _will_ make you happy, I swear it!"

"But I will not make _you_ happy! Do you truly believe you could lie by my side content and at peace knowing my love for Tristan still burns? NO! You would be wondering always 'is it him she thinks of as I hold her in my arms!'" She cried "I can not do that to you Dagonet. Jealousy is a demon that turns the most faithful of brothers into enemies and the dearest love into vileness. I can not live with that. You deserve so much better"

The tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to sob. "Do not hate me, Dagonet. You will find your lady some day. One worthy of your love. I only wish it could be me, but until I am free of him, I will not ….._Can not, _give my love to another."

Dagonet swiftly gathered her up into in his strong arms, unable to bear the sight of her tears, any longer. She went into their safety like a tiny lamb in to the arms of her shepherd. She felt him kiss her hair, just once, lightly and then heard the sigh of his heavy heart. They stayed this way for what seemed an eternity. Dagonet knowing this would be the last an only moment he would ever feel her heart beating next to his own - Prue, swimming in the comfort of his strong and loving arms - neither, wanting the moment to end.

"I understand, my lady." He breathed at length, refusing to relinquish his hold until the very last. "I will love and protect you always – as a brother – if it must be that way."

Defeated, he gave her one last embrace and then reluctantly set her tiny frame down. He stood and regarded her for a moment, a sad but understanding smile upon his face.

"I am honoured to have your friendship Prue…. I will strive always to keep it so"

"It is _my_ honour, dear Dagonet and one I will cherish until I die." She replied, nothing more than a whisper. "You truly are the _very best _of men."

Dagonet then bowed and lightly brushed her hand with his lips. With a heavy heart he turned and left.

Prue stood and quietly wept.

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Tristan had had just about all he could take for one night. It was not so much the jesting of his comrades - that, he was used to - it was that _damned_ woman again! Why did she always manage to creep under his skin? What was it about her?

Her last words weighed heavily on his mind. 'Filthy, heartless shell of a man' she'd called him. Was it any wonder really? And now he had pushed her straight into the arms of Dagonet.

As Tristan left the tavern that evening, leaving the cackling of his companions behind him, he stole a look through the kitchen doorway as he past. Knowing full well Dagonet had followed after Prue as she had stormed away.

What he witnessed as he glanced through, stopped him dead in his tracks. His tall friend was stood embracing Prue, _his_ Prue! He could see her delicate arms encircled around Dagonet's waist as he held her tightly and he saw him bend low and kiss her hair.

Tristan's face grew terrifyingly dark and the muscles in his jaw flexed painfully as he ground his teeth in an attempt to stay the steadily growing rage within. He strode away quickly, grabbing a full flagon of ale that stood as if waiting just for him, on a nearby table as he passed by.

His pace quickened with every stride he took as he made his way in silent fury, across the court yard and up to the door of his quarters. Taking a long swallow from the ale flagon in his hand he threw open the wooden door, stepped into the dark and bare room then turned viscously and precisely and kicked it shut with a terrific crash which shook the whole building.

He stood completely still for a moment, the only movement being the rise and fall of his violent breath. The crash of the door still echoed in his head, he swallowed another mouthful from the flagon and then began to pace up & down the length of the small room looking ever more like a caged, stir crazy animal. He continued to drink as he went. He had never been a heavy drinker, he being a man who wanted always to be in command of his mind and body, but at this moment he welcomed the warm, woozy feeling of the brew as it began to take control.

Tristan wanted no one in his life, _needed_ no one in his life. Emotions were for the weak minded, he always told himself. Emotions caused distractions that a warrior, such as he, could ill afford on the battle field.

He had been alone for as long as he could remember and it suited him that way. Any memories of a loving mother and family, long since gone - had been suppressed and locked firmly away, deep inside the darkest recess of his agonized soul long, long ago and there it had stayed.

But pain and loss have a way of their own to break free from time to time and even Tristan was not unfamiliar with the experience of the terrors of the night. Sometimes he would wake, heart pounding, sweat pouring from his brow, trembling from the fear of some unknown demons lurking deep down in his sub-conscious.

Recently though, he had taken to awakening in the dead of night with a different beat in his heart. Sometimes confused, always aroused. He knew secretly, it was thoughts of her that crept into his dreams and stirred his hunger.

Despite his fellow knights' jests about his lack of female company, Tristan was by no means a stranger to partaking of the relief a whore could give a man. To Tristan it was nothing more than a way to satisfy a natural frustration. The act itself was always cold and emotionless. No intimacy, no warm caresses, no kiss. He felt nothing but the expected and welcome release. Just the way he wanted it.

It was no secret that he was far from being a favourite among the prostitutes of the community. They found him a little disturbing and unnatural. The only reason they took his money was the simple fact that it was quick and effortless but they all still breathed a sigh of relief when he left.

But this woman made him _feel. _It was unnerving and Tristan was beginning to wonder what was happening to him. Why did he wake in the night feeling want and desire? Why did he feel the need to touch her _so_ badly? What in Hell's name was she doing to him?

'She's a brassy one, I'll give her that!' he thought often to himself. No one had ever dared to confront him as she always did. But that was it, wasn't it? When he looked in her eyes he never saw the usual uneasiness, fear or loathing. Her eyes had always sparkled and it had made him feel so good.

He had no idea how long he had stalked the floor of his tiny quarters that night. Ranting away to himself - his rage and fury rising more and more with every step. But his head was throbbing mercilessly as he stopped and threw the now empty flagon furiously against the wall where it shattered angrily to the floor.

He leant forward now, against the wooden door, his whole weight borne on his outstretched arms and his head hung low between his shoulders. He was silent but for the heavy rise and fall of his breath. Thoughts of her were driving him insane, the alcohol swimming through his veins loosening his normally steadfast control. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest and tiny beads of sweat began to trickle down his tense, angry features. She despised him now. He had seen it in her last look and it gave him such pain.

He imagined them together - she and Dagonet - kissing each other, bodies entwined in a passionate embrace that he would never know. He felt the powerful throb of his mind and thought it about to explode.

"Damn you, DAMN YOU TO HELL!" He yelled, punching wildly at the wooden door.

Blood began to seep from his swollen knuckles as he grabbed the latch and flung open the door. He had to escape the stifling confines of his desolate room. He couldn't breathe, he had to get out. He didn't know where he was going, somewhere, anywhere! He breathed in deeply the warm night air as his head spun wildly from the alcohol. The hour was very late and all was quiet in the courtyard. As he wiped his dampened forehead with his sleeve Tristan saw the low, fading glow of the tavern torches across the way. It seemed deserted now, but for a split second he thought he saw a shadow pass across the open kitchen doorway. His eyes rested once again on the dying glow of the torches and they seemed to be beckoning to him, calling his name….

He stood quiet for a moment; absently lifting his wounded hand to his mouth, he tasted the sweet blood that lay there, running a moist tongue deliberately across his lips as he did so, all the while never once taking his eyes from the torch light ahead.

Slowly, like a moth to a flame, he made his way towards their bidding light…..


	5. Chapter 5

**A huge thank you to MedievalWarriorPrincess, Knightmaiden, Morwen12 and Lucilla for all your kind words. It means so much. Hope you all continue to enjoy this tale.**

**WARNING - It is not my intention to offend anyone and I would be mortified if I ever did. **

**But this story is rated 'M' and the following chapter is the reason why. Therefore I take this moment to warn readers that this is a rather unpleasant chapter in parts, which contains swearing and violence of a strong sexual nature.**

**If this upsets or offends you in any way, please DO NOT read.**

**CHAPTER 5**

Prue stifled a weary yawn as she straightened the last of the tavern benches & stools. Rubbing her tired, swollen eyes gently with her hands, she made her way back into the kitchen where she had stood with Dagonet, just a few short hours ago. What had passed between them seemed almost a dream now to Prue and she wished desperately that it had been so.

Vanora had left much earlier on that evening, escorting an intoxicated and enamoured Bors back home to their bed. Prue had smiled as she watched them stumble away together; Bors slobbering his vows of eternal love & sloppy, drunken kisses all over Vanora as she laughingly pushed his face away.

"I lave ya, Vanora…..I really lave ya, ya know that?" he drawled, eyes half closed and his face flushed from drink as he swayed and staggered, held up only by Vanora's tiny frame.

Much to Prue's relief, the last of the stragglers in the tavern that night had finally made their way to their beds and she was now thankfully alone.

There was nothing left to do now, in the tavern, but despite her exhausted body and mind, there would be no sleep for Prue tonight. She dropped down wearily on a stool that stood next to the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. The night had not gone well.

She rested her aching head upon her hands and stared absently into the dying embers of the stove fire as she reflected on all that had evolved that night.

What a fool she was to have thrown away the chance of happiness Dagonet had laid at her feet. And for what? Her senseless adoration of that cold-hearted Scout!

But it was no use trying to fool her own heart; the first thought of that damned man set her spirit racing, despite her exhausted body. If only he hadn't touched her, then maybe she would be with Dagonet right now.

She shivered at the memory of Tristan's hand upon her own. It had felt so warm and strong just as she had imagined it would as she lay in the secrecy of her bed, night after night, dreaming of those same hands caressing her body. How she yearned for his touch. Closing her eyes she allowed herself a secret moment of pleasure as she lay next to her scout, his hot lips trailing down the length of her body.

She let out a gentle sigh of arousal as she glided her hands over her forehead and slowly down the length of her long tawny hair.

"Shall I take it…..from that sigh at your lips; He did not disappoint you, Madam?"

Prue jumped up from her chair! Her chest pounding, she swung round to see a dark and familiar silhouette stood leaning in the dimly lit doorway behind her. She had not heard his approach and wondered frantically how long he had been there.

Prue was stunned into silence for a moment and before she could gather the breath to speak, the intruder spoke once more in an equally low and sarcastic tone.

"Forgive me, _my lady. _I startled you, how rude and _un-chivalrous _of me!"

The voice was calm but Prue could sense a dangerous snarl lurking deep down within and she trembled a little as she watched the figure lean up from the door frame and begin to saunter deliberately over towards her. The slight, uncharacteristic waver in his step sending another shiver of unease, rippling through her body.

He stopped when he reached the table.

"As you know, I have never possessed the good manners you '_ladies'_ admire so much in a man." His tone grew chillingly dark as he snorted contemptuously "A man, say… like my _dear friend_, Dag!"

The deliberate jibe at Dagonet sent an angry rush through Prue enabling her to quickly gather her courage. She pulled herself up tall and snapped back

"What do you want, Tristan?"

She watched him as he stood with his shaggy, braided head tilted downward to his chest, carelessly running a finger up and down the table-top. His face was emotionless, his eyes she could not see.

At the sound of her voice he turned his head to look at her. The glowing embers of the dying fire reflected in his dark and forbidding eyes and Prue could see a tempest brewing. Nerves again took hold of her senses and she swallowed involuntarily as the realisation of Tristan's precarious mood swept over her.

He advanced silently towards her and then, slowly and deliberately, began to circle where she stood. Prue stayed motionless as he stole his way around her. She sensed all to completely what dangerous humour he bore, but despite herself, the closeness of his body to hers left her tense and trembling all over with anticipation of his touch.

He prowled menacingly around his prey, his deadly gaze rising and falling across the full length of her quivering body. Never in his life had he desired anything the way in which he desired this woman before him now. The ache in his loins stirred the thoughts with every step of how it would feel wrapped tightly between her long, beautiful legs. The ecstasy it would be to thrust himself deep inside her and hear her scream with passion. He swallowed as his mouth began to water.

She could hear the steady pant of his breath; she could feel his eyes brushing the hot skin beneath her clothes. She knew his thoughts and was both aroused and terrified by it.

With a quiet, disturbing laugh he leaned close and whispered in her ear "What do I _want_?"

At the sound of his voice Prue closed her eyes; she could sense his growing desire and the knowledge of it rendered her breathless.

She lifted her trembling dark lashes and looked upon him as he came around again to face her. A small gasp escaped from her lips as he reached out and carefully took a lock of her tawny hair in his long slender fingers and leaning his face so close to her own, she felt him breathe in her scent. With the intimacy of the moment, Prue felt her body begin to respond. She was powerless to protest as a dull throb began to pulse between her thighs. Her body ached for his touch. So close was he now, that Prue felt the whiskers upon his chin gently stroke against her soft white cheek. She impulsively moved her mouth towards his, desperate to feel his lips upon hers.

As she did so, Prue smelt the alcohol upon his hot breath.

Then, viciously and without warning Tristan's hand shot out and seized her delicate chin. He grasped her face tightly and with a whispered fury hissed

"I can still smell that son-of-a-bitch _all over you_!"

Prue gave a startled cry of pain, and then instinctively smacked his hand away from her face.

"You drunk, animal thing you!" she screamed "What manner of man _are you_? Get out! Just get out!"

Tristan stared at her, an unwavering steely glare. Then, stepping up close again and snarled "I'm warning you woman, do not provoke my temper. You shall unleash the devil in me and I will not be responsible for my actions"

Ignoring his threats, Prue angrily replied

"How dare you treat me this way? I am not one of your penny whores!"

"Oh, I don't know" he retorted with a deadly smile on his whiskered lips "The only difference I can see is that I'd get _you_ on your back for free"

With an almighty crack, Prue struck the scout across his insufferable face. It took him completely by surprise but as the sting from the blow raged through his cheek, he stayed deadly still. The only movement he made was to run his tongue along his mouth to taste the sweetness of the tiny droplet of blood that oozed from his lip.

Prue, wide eyed and gasping with hurt and shame, made a move to escape the room but there would be no escape from the hunter tonight.

"Where you going, little rabbit!" Tristan snarled as his hands shot out and seized her shoulders; She heard the rip of her dress as he dragged her back and swinging her off her feet he slammed her weightless body up against the wall as if she were a mere rag doll.

He wanted to hurt her so badly at that moment, he wanted to her to feel pain like the agony he suffered thinking of Dagonet's hands caressing her beautiful body. His head was throbbing madly and his heart tearing into pieces, treacherously fuelled by the lethal combine of jealousy and alcohol. He wanted to take her now, wanted to pound every last memory of that bastard's touch from her flesh!

She thought him no better than an untamed animal; he would show her just what a wild and pitiless beast he really was, alright. He would have her beg at his feet for his mercy.

But even then, as he looked once again into her wide and terrified eyes and saw the glistening tears trickle down upon the skin of her delicate neck, he felt flames love tearing wildly through his rampant fury, imploring him to stop. But it was too late, so lost was he now in his vehement passion. He had too taste those tears.

Her body ached with pain as he leaned so heavily upon her, she could barely move. She felt his raging lust as he feverishly began to kiss her throat that was now wet with tears. His hot, passionate mouth moving down hungrily to her now, bare shoulder. It wasn't enough for him. He had to have more. Tristan grabbed the tattered flap of her dress collar and tore at it viciously until he had his prize. My god she was so beautiful. He gave out a pleasured groan at the sight of her rounded heaving breasts.

"Please don't! Tristan please…." Pleaded Prue desperately, as she struggled vainly to free herself from his grasp, her terrified heart pounding rapidly as he held her pinned with his powerful, lean hands.

He tore his gaze from her body and looked into her pleading, tear filled eyes. All was silent for a moment. Silent, except for the rhythmic heaving breath of both as they eyed each other closely. Tristan then shook his head slowly and growled in a low, husky voice,

"No! I know you want me. I can see it; I can _feel_ it….. I can _smell_ it. Dagonet may have won you now but tonight you are mine, woman!"

He kissed her mouth with his scorching, ravenous lips and Prue could feel her own arousal stirring again, burning and moist between her legs. She was in a confused state of fear and lust. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was not what she had always imagined between them. She knew this was wrong but she wanted him so badly. Her urgency filled her with shame. This was a wanton lust she had never experienced and in her innocence, did not fully understand.

His tongue searched furiously around her mouth, she tasted so wonderful.

"Say you want me." He whispered between passionate kisses." Say It!"

Letting up his grip with one hand, she felt him reach down, grabbing frantically at the hems of her dress. He yanked up the material exposing the milky white flesh of her trembling thighs. Forcing one leg between hers he prised them apart whilst his eager hand feverishly caressed her skin, moving closer and closer up towards the heat between her legs.

Prue let out a moan and gasped "God help me!" as Tristan's finger tips found her silky wetness throbbing and inviting him in. Her head was reeling and she was totally unaware of Tristan fumbling expertly at the ties & buckles of his breeches.

It was then she felt the searing pain tear through her body as Tristan ruthlessly plunged his throbbing, length into her. She cried out in agony as he thrust mercilessly over & over again, Tristan groaned wildly, every carnal stroke robbing her of her innocence. The desire he had awakened in her fled from her body from the first taste of pain and as he continued his frantic and cruel pounding of her virgin body, she plummeted into a sphere of hurt & fear.

It hadn't lasted long before Tristan fell from her trembling & gasping, sweat pouring from his brow. But it had been an eternity for Prue.

Tristan thumped back upon the wall gasping, his body totally spent and rapid breath & racing heart slowly calming. For a moment he was lost, his mind still tumbling painfully, then his confused thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tiny, quivering voice.

"Why?..."

Being drawn reluctantly back to reality, sobriety fought its way back, bringing with it a sudden, furious sense of disgrace. Hardly daring to turn his head, he looked upon Prue who still stood by his side, her head hanging down, her tiny trembling hands clutching together the tattered dress vainly trying to cover her modesty. He heard a little sob escape her lips and he felt such shame.

What had he done? What sort of demon was he? He hadn't thought to find her untouched, truly he hadn't. Did that make what he'd done any less wicked? So consumed with jealousy and rage was he, hadn't he wanted to punish her? Hadn't he wanted to hurt her and make her suffer? Hadn't he wanted to make her scream and beg him for pity? All he had thought of was his own selfish lust, the moment he had entered her body and felt himself tear into her maidenhood he could have stopped, couldn't he? He knew the pain he was inflicting upon her, but instead of showing the kindness and tenderness a lover should, the feel of it had inflamed his carnal appetite even more, driving him on cruelly & viciously. He _was_ an animal. He was the worst kind of animal.

Contempt & disgust swept through him in overwhelming haste, leaving him nauseous. Tristan slid down the wall to the floor and dropped his reprehensible head upon his bended knees and began to weep for the first time in his life.

Prue, her body aching and sore, her heart full of shame, felt like a wounded bird in the clutches of a wild-cat as she stood in the now silent and oppressive room. Her legs trembled, threatening to give way beneath her but she fought with every last grain of dignity she had left, to stand tall and brave.

She gathered her courage and made a move to leave but just as she did, Tristan sunk to the floor and to her bewilderment; she heard the sound of weeping.

Against all reasonable sense, instead of fleeing the room, the spectacle had forced Prue to stop before him. The terrifying beast was gone and all that was left before her now was a broken little boy. As she watched him weep she could hear mumbled cries of regret and pleas for forgiveness. Instinctively she reached out and lifted his bowed head from his knees. Tristan hadn't realised her still there and gave a slight start at the touch of her hands.

Prue stared into his shamed, pain filled eyes. Motionless for a moment, she then slapped him swiftly and violently across his face. Tristan sat there stunned, his cheek burning but welcoming the pain, longing for anything to cleanse his guilt as the blow became two then three, then a raging attack.

Prue struck him over and over with every ounce of strength she had left, until she finally collapsed into a heap of exhausted heart broken sobs before him. Scrambling up weakly from the floor, she turned to flee. Tristan immediately threw himself toward her, desperately grabbing at her dress. Catching his hold he dragged the distraught woman back in to his arms and held her sobbing to his breast. He was panting wildly again. He knew if he let her go now he would loose her forever. She struggled in his grasp but he refused to let go. All the time desperately begging her forgiveness and swearing his love.

Slowly her frantic struggles and sobs began to quieten and eventually she lay still and peaceful in his arms. They stayed this way for what seemed an age, Tristan never once letting her from his embrace.

Prue, now calm leant up for Tristan's arms. She felt his momentary panic as he tightened his grip, afraid she would run from him once more but then Prue's whispered words of assurance, allowing him the nerve to reluctantly let go his hold.

Prue stared into the scout's tear stained face and saw how wretched & shameful he looked. Gingerly, she reached out and pushed aside the shaggy braids from his eyes and wiped away the tears from his tattooed cheeks.

Tristan stared back with wonder. He saw the love still there in her eyes and it tortured his soul to see it so.

"How can you bear to even look at me, Prue?" he whispered huskily. "I have done you such wrong"

She knew she should want to scorn him, spit at him, and run him through with a blade. But for all dishonour and hurt he had inflicted, the sound of this man's tears drove away any such feelings of hatred and vengeance. She did not know why she felt this way and at that moment, didn't really care.

She felt a wave of compassion and reaching out gently once more, took his whiskered face in her tiny hands.

For a short time she did not answer him but continued to hold his gaze and then replied,

"I love you, Tristan. I have always loved you. If that be my cross to bear, then so be it. You hold my heart and soul, my lord and I am powerless to fight it"

Her words crushed at his heart and seizing the moment he reached out and kissed her sweet mouth with the lips of a gentle lover.

"I am no better than the dirt at your feet, my lady. I do not deserve one such as you" he whispered and kissed her again.

Tristan realised what a rare and precious gift he had now in his hands. This woman, this beautiful woman, whom he had offended and dishonoured in the most wicked way a man could – had sat before him and declared her ceaseless love. He knew from very moment that he loved her more than life itself.

"I swear to you" He spoke earnestly, taking her face gently in both of his hands and looking deep into her glistening, brown eyes "I shall _never_ hurt you again. I shall spend my life proving myself worthy of your love and your forgiveness, my sweet lady"

Prue felt her heart come alive, unfolding like the petals of a new spring blossom at the sound of those words. "You have always had my love, Tristan and forever shall."

Tristan rose from the floor and quickly gathered Prue up in his arms. Carefully, he carried her out of the tavern and across the courtyard to his room. She felt so light in his arms; he felt he could almost glide. As he reached the door he stopped and looked down at the woman in his arms.

"Please do not fear me, I will not touch you, you have my word. I need only to have you close to me."

Prue smiled up at the scout and considered how beautiful he looked, his face so earnest and full of emotion.

Her smile was all he needed to see and he carried her through the door.

They had lain together through out the night; Tristan wrapped around her body, his head nuzzled amongst her soft brown hair, whispering words of love in her ear. He felt so safe and content for the first time in his empty life. He vowed to himself over & over that he would never let this wonderful woman go. True to his promise, he had made no advances upon her. He just held her close to him, afraid she may slip through his fingers at any moment

When Prue had shuffled around in his arms to face him, he felt his heart soar. Without a word she kissed him, the gentle touch slowly building into a deep, passionate embrace.

She needed to know what love really felt like; she wanted desperately to show him her love and to have him show her his in return. Tristan was in no doubt of her silent call, but still cautiously asked

"Are you sure, my lady?"

She had nodded shyly and then with the utmost tenderness and care, Tristan began to make love to her. Every now and then she would hear him whisper "are you alright, am I hurting you?"

This was the man she had fallen so deeply in love with. This generous, loving, beautiful man. She always knew he was there somewhere behind that cold and emotionless facade and at last she had found him.

In his whole life he had never experienced emotion such as this with a woman. Such selfless pleasure. The longing to please her. The need to touch her and to be touched by her. Hearing her gasps of delight as he kissed her body and caressed her warm flesh made him breathless from his power. When he entered her so slowly, gently and a little nervously to begin with, she had cried out with desire and he felt such a rush of love and pleasure, never before known to him. She had entwined her legs so tightly around his body, thrusting herself up faster and faster to meet his every stroke. At the feel of her body's trembling climax and her cries of rapture, Tristan felt his own release bursting forth and shuddering with ecstasy, he finally collapsed breathless and sobbing into her loving arms.

For what remained of the night, Tristan lay like a child, in the comfort of her embrace as she lovingly stroked his hair and they whispered words of devotion to one another. This was what he had been searching for all his life. He hadn't known it until now. His soul had been nothing more than an empty vessel but she had come along and re-awakened his long dead spirit and he loved her so.

---------------

With the dawn light bursting through the room, Prue had stirred a little. Her lashes gently flickered open and she became aware that she lay alone. She shot up in the bed a little distressed but quickly gave a sigh of relief as she spied Tristan, sat naked on the end of the bed, stitching away at her torn dress with a concentrated frown upon his brow.

The sight of him made her giggle and he smiled at the sound as he turned to look at her.

"I'm much more used to stitching flesh, but it's the same principle" he spoke as he continued his task.

She regarded him in silence for sometime. What a magnificent looking man he was. She watched the ripple of every perfect muscle in his slender white body, as he worked away. Her eyes traced the journey of the scars upon that body, each telling their own tale of pain and suffering past. She wanted to go to him now and kiss away the memory of every one.

He was beautiful and he was hers, she thought with loving pride.

All of a sudden, the sound of loud rapping upon the wooden door snapped Prue from her thoughts.

She heard Gawain's familiar voice call out.

"Tristan! Get your stuff together, my friend. Arthur's called an urgent meeting at the table."

She heard Tristan grunt in reply. He put down his stitching and then began to dress himself. Prue felt an unease creep through her body. An urgent calling of the knights to the round table could only spell one thing. Dear Lord, she had found him at last and now he was to leave her again.

There was silence between them the whole time Tristan was putting on his clothes and Prue thought he was about to leave her without a single word. But as he reached the door he turned to look at her. The dark look on his features told Prue that he was feeling the same pain as she.

"Prue, I am a difficult man, I know and I have a difficult life. Things can not always be as wonderful as these last few hours have been. I have nothing of value to give to you; I am not even free to give you my name. But you will always have my heart, _always_. Remember that."

With those words he smiled lovingly at his woman and then was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much for the lovely reviews everyone. I can't tell you how nervous I was posting that one. **

**_Lady Marek_ and _Lucilla, _It was a rather long chapter but I knew I couldn't leave it at the rape scene, I'm so glad you thought so too – I felt that they had to deal with it there and then, in their own way, whilst their emotions, especially Tristan's, were in such turmoil. I think if Prue had gotten away, then it would have been over – Tristan would have withdrawn again and walled up his feelings, if he'd had been given the space to calm down and her love would have ultimately turned into hatred. I was worried that maybe readers wouldn't see that and think it rather unrealistic that she stayed. I am so happy that I manage to evoke a little sympathy for Tristan or it would never have worked!phew! **

**Thank you_ Knightmaiden, _I hope they stay together – They both deserve a little happiness, we'll just have to see!**

**_Morwen22 _–Thank you so much, I so happy that you're still enjoying this.**

**_MedievalWarriorPrincess _– what can I say? Me thinks Dag would definitely swing his big axe right on his head if he ever finds out! Your right! LOL! Thank you so very, very much for the wonderful words. I'm thrilled that you thought Tristan 'right' in that chapter. I was concerned that fellow scout lovers may not like that I portrayed him in such a way but I did try hard to show the emotion and pain he was going through as well, in order to separate the crime from a mere heartless, animal attack. Deep gratitude to you and everyone for reading.**

**Summary: I originally finished the story there, but then decided I wanted to know what happened to Prue and Tristan, so a month or so later I wrote a little more and this is the beiginning, along with some much needed improvements to my writing:)**

**The following takes place some twelve months later…………..**

**CHAPTER 6**

The magnificent grey charger thundered across the soft ground which was sodden from the day's earlier torrential downpour. The wet earth flung wildly from its hooves with every stride.

Sweat boiled down the stallion's powerful flanks and hot saliva flew from its foaming, snarling mouth as the rider pushed him on faster and faster.

For 2 days and nights the Scout had driven him on mercilessly and now, nostrils flaring wildly with every heart-bursting intake of breath, the steed could finally smell the journey's end ever closer and the knowledge of it was all that kept his courageous spirit racing.

By the time Tristan reached the Fortress, the daylight had long since slipped away and a full and shimmering moon had guided him safely back to the only place he could call home.

On reaching the torch lit courtyard, the exhausted Scout gently pulled his mount to a steady halt and eased himself from the saddle, his body aching with relief.

"Welcome back, my Lord." came a hushed voice from behind him. The familiar sound of the ever faithful Jols brought a slight smile to Tristan's lips as he turned and nodded his greeting.

"All is well Jols, since I have been gone?" He asked as he began to unbuckle the filthy, wet cloak from his shoulders - handing it to Jols, as the man replied.

"All is well my Lord, yes. Your Commander still stirs in his quarters if you wish to see him."

Tristan let out a weary sigh as he stood, absently scratching his chest and pondering on his next move. He would have to take council with Arthur now, damn it. He had hoped that with the late hour of his arrival, all his comrades would be asleep in their beds and his report could have waited until the morning. He should have known Arthur would be unable to rest until he returned.

Tristan was shattered, starving, soaked to the bone and utterly filthy. He glanced across the way to the door that led to his own room. All he wanted was to go there now, to the comfort of his lady's arms. He longed to be encircled in their warmth and safety. He craved their touch.

He missed her so, as he always missed her. His sanctuary waited just beyond that door, but unhappily, he must suffer it's elusion a while longer yet.

Jols had taken hold of the exhausted stallion's reins and was now about to lead him back towards the stable.

Tristan gave the steed a loving pat and caressed his down turned ear. Such a courageous spirit, that stallion of his. Tristan had thought often what a magnificent warrior he must have been in his previous time in this world. He owed him his life many times over. Apart from his woman and his hawk, the grey stallion was the only other thing in his life for which Tristan had ever felt any true emotion.

He watched Jols's retreat with the horse and called out

"Take good care of him, Jols. He has more heart and soul than the lot of us put together."

------------------------

"Tristan! So good to see you my friend, come in, sit down. You must be hungry. I'll have Jols bring you some food" Arthur stretched out his hand in offer of a chair which sat close to a roaring fireplace.

Tristan shook his head as he stood in the doorway, his hands resting one over the other in front of him.

"I can wait. Jols is busy in the stables at present." He replied in his usual low, even tone.

"Sit down, man. Tell me what you have to report." Arthur motioned once more to a chair opposite his own.

"I prefer to stand, Arthur. I have been in the saddle for two days, my ass welcomes the relief."

Arthur gave a short laugh and began to pour a goblet of wine. Moving over to his most trusted Scout he offered him the refreshment. Tristan took the drink and swallowed a mouth full. He much preferred ale to this putrid Roman poison, but at that moment, anything tasted good.

Arthur regarded Tristan in silence, giving him a moment to drink his wine. Although it did not show, Arthur knew the impatience in which his knight stood before him now.

He had been truly concerned when the knowledge that Tristan had taken a lover had reached him. Arthur did not like the idea of his men forming singular attachments outside of the brotherhood. He believed it could prove a dangerous distraction. It was bad enough when Bors had fallen captive to that pretty red-headed Vanora, but Tristan! Tristan of all people!

Arthur had been astounded when he learnt of the Scout's union with the tavern girl. Never could he have foreseen such a thing. Sullen, silent, emotionless Tristan. Cold-hearted killer and his most expert and trustworthy knight. He trusted him with his life – would he still be able to if his thoughts were a prisoner of love? Love! If this woman had managed to reach in and capture Tristan's iron heart, it was a serious situation.

Arthur had been deeply concerned and even considered ordering Tristan to severe the relationship. But sense had prevailed and he had decided to wait and see what transpired. Rightly so, it now seemed.

Tristan never once faltered in his loyalty and duty. Much to his commander's relief, he was the just same as he always had been - a ruthless, skilled killer, flawless scout and the usual irritatingly quiet & distant comrade. Although, when away from their garrison, Arthur had noticed that of all his knights, Tristan was now the one to suggest they ride just that little further before they set up camp for the night and encouraged them all to rise, just that bit earlier in the mornings. But, Arthur had decided, that was perhaps not such a bad thing.

What he was like behind the door of his room with his woman was anyone's guess.

"So, my friend" Arthur said at length, "You have been gone almost two weeks. What news?"

"There are rumours and unrest amongst the villages all along the North Eastern borders." Tristan offered "They say the Woads are becoming bolder, raids more frequent. They are being sighted more often, no less than a few miles from the wall."

"Did you see any evidence of this yourself, Tristan?" Arthur asked, an inquisitive frown forming on his brow.

"Some…. but they proved easy pickings"

A knowing smile glimmered at the corner of Arthur's mouth and then was gone as he continued with his inquiry.

"Any idea why this is happening now?"

"The talk is that the Woads have a new chieftain. Goes by the name of Merlin. They believe him some sort of mystical being, a conjurer of magic – it is this that stokes the blue bastards' courage, I think."

Tristan had now drained the goblet in his hand and waited wearily for the next question. All the time hiding behind his much practised cloak of indifference, his desperate wish to be out of this room and instead nestled against his lady's warm & consoling breast.

Arthur considered Tristan's last statement carefully. He didn't like the sound of it, not one bit. At length he asked

"What do you think, Tristan? Do you believe him to be what they say?"

Tristan gave an amused grunt as he leant forward and placed down the empty goblet upon a table by the wall. "I say… if it breathes, you can kill it"

Arthur laughed, his mood lifted greatly as always, by Tristan's unfaltering reason.

"Thank you Tristan. I shall keep you no longer. Go now and get some rest. You look a wreck!" Tristan nodded his thanks and turned to leave. "And get a bath man, before you go to that poor woman of yours! You look & smell like a rancid dog!"

"Why do you think she likes me?" Tristan replied as he closed the door behind him.

--------------------------------

Tristan crept into the room without a sound. Lifting away the curved sword upon his back and unbuckling his heavy leather tunic, he lay them silently down upon the floor where he now stood. He breathed in deeply. He could smell the scent of his woman and he closed his eyes momentarily at the thought. The taste of her began to flame his spirit and reawakened his shattered body once more.

He stole quietly over towards the sounds of her breathing, discarding his clothing as he went. The feel of his hungry gaze stirred Prue from her slumber and even in the darkness she knew instantly that her wolf had returned to its lair.

She caught her breath as her lashes fluttered open. The room was still and shrouded in darkness but listening intently she could just hear the whisper of his steady breathing. She smiled and trembled slightly in anticipation as she waited for his inevitable strike. This had always been one of his favourite games.

At last he pounced! Prue let out a hysterical scream of laughter that echoed all around the Keep, as he leapt upon her and playfully ravished and nipped at her neck.

In the very next room, lying comfortably entwined between two heavenly voluptuous bodies, Gawain, stirred from his contented slumber. Hearing the shrieks and laughter, a smile crossed his lips. "Ah, the Scout has returned" he mumbled as he eased his body round to bury his head against a most welcome bosom on his left.

Kissing Prue now, with feverish lips, Tristan fell onto his back and pulled her across him. There was no wasting time with foreplay and long, teasing caresses. Their hunger for one another was agonizing. Prue sat up and climbed across his body immediately, rejoicing in the sound of her lover's ecstatic groan as she felt him slide deep into her already hot, moist and demanding body. She took complete command of every move, riding him expertly as he grasped her raring, pounding hips - pulling her down to meet his ravenous lust faster and harder.

Throwing back her head she squealed her delight as she heard Tristan's passionate roar and felt his explosive release burst through her body.

"My God……!" she panted feverishly, feeling the rapid rise of her own almost unbearable peak of ecstasy. With a violent tremble, she fell forward into his arms gasping and panting, rivers of perspiration tumbling down her hot, and quivering body.

They lay as such, silently for a moment, their voracious passion now easing to a contented air of calm. Then, Prue slid gently from her lover and snuggled down more comfortably into the crook of his arm. Neither spoke, both preferring to just bask in the joy of their intimacy. Prue soothingly circled her finger amongst the familiar dark curls upon Tristan's chest.

"I love you Tristan." She whispered as she reached up and touched his face. All she could hear now was the gentle rise and fall of his breath.

Prue smiled and shook her head lovingly. She tenderly leaned up and placed a whisper of a kiss upon his lips, and then she joined her lover in his slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

**MedievalWarriorPrincess, Morwen22, XantheCorvinus and Lucilla my heartfelt thanks & appreciation, as always, to you all for reviewing Chapter 6. **

**I am thrilled that you all are enjoying this and still reading it! Glad Gawain made you laugh, _Lucilla_! I always see him as an extremely lovable and irresistible ladies man! _XantheCorvinus_, Im speechless! Thank you so _very_ much for the wonderful complement. _MWP_, Arthur, I always imagine as a rather lonely man at this time of his life(this is before Guinney!) so I thought that he wouldn't really understand how important having a constant, loving relationship could be for his men and only see the possible negatives.(what do you think?) That line about 'Tristan of all people' made me smile too, I could just see the comical look of despair on Arthur's face when he found out! Thanks to you, my friend, for all your support.**

**Chapter 7**

'A difficult man with a difficult life.' He had said to her once, many, many months ago. Never a truer word spoken, but she had known that from the first moment she set eyes on him and she had accepted those circumstances without question.

But still, this did not ease the loneliness and fear that cursed Prue's heart every time she watched him ride away upon his faithful grey stallion - his hawk on his arm, flapping her wings and squawking her displeasure as he urged his mount into a canter. The last sound of his voice she would hear was always his low, gentle murmurs of reassurance as the bird settled herself down into the rhythm of the horse's strides. This familiar scene always made Prue smile, despite her sadness and she would pray to them both to bring her man home safely once more.

How desperately she had missed him. He had been away almost two weeks - much longer than his usual solitary scouting trips, and Prue had been particularly more low and weary than ever this time. She mourned his absence every hour of every day, never knowing when or even _if_ he would return. Loving this man was torture, but to be without him now, she knew, would prove her life not worth the living.

Prue lay nestled against her lover's taut, warm body. Impatiently she had watched the shadows of their tiny room twist and shrink away slowly with the rising of the dawn sun. She had lain as such for what seemed an eternity, despite her tiredness, with sleep far from her reach as it always was when Tristan returned to her side from his journeys away.

She listened to the sound of his breathing - gentle and low, rising and falling in perfect harmony with her own. She longed to see those brown eyes of his eyes open. Longed to hear his voice, see his smile, and feel his strong and loving hands upon her again. But he was exhausted. She knew that. He had ridden like the devil to get back to her side, as he always did.

Prue reached up and tenderly stroked away the locks that fell across his heavy lashes. Hoping secretly, that the gentle caress may stir him. His long hair was grubby and matted, his face still bore the toil of his arduous journey, but even so, she thought how beautiful he looked lying there. He was so peaceful, the hard lines upon his rugged features were smooth and relaxed making him appear a mere young boy.

Prue considered him lovingly for a while. Tristan was still the same old Tristan he had always been when they were in the company of others. He was by nature, deliberately undemonstrative when it came to the question of emotions; this was a habit that could not be expected to change. Prue had grown to understand and except it over time. Although it had been difficult for her at first. His reserve when they were in the tavern together for instance, had confused and upset her to begin with. She could not comprehend how, just a short while ago in their room, he had been showering her with his love and the next, so distant.

But she had quickly begun to recognise the looks across the crowded room, the hidden smile and tenderness glimmering in his eyes that shone only for her. These always served as constant reassurance of his devotion and she finally came to realise, just what the love they shared together really meant to him. Their moments alone were his haven, the one time when he truly forgot the nightmare that had been his life until she had tiptoed into his heart, bringing with her, the gift of unconditional love and trust.

They were as unlike as the sun and moon. He being quiet, thoughtful and reserved. She being full of laughter and chattering endlessly. But just like the sun and moon, together they were perfect and complete.

Tristan had only one fear in his life now - that she would be taken away from him. He truly believed if it were known to others how much she truly meant to him, then she would be stolen away somehow. Everything he had ever cared for in his life had been taken from him: His mother, his homeland, his childhood, his freedom. That's why he had to protect her so fiercely and to display to all, his impenetrable defence of indifference, was the only way he knew how. All that mattered to him was that _she_ knew she was his world, that he lived for her and for her alone, that he would die for her.

Being alone with Prue, Tristan's defences would crumble away and his soul became hers to command. Such was his trust in her. When ill temper shadowed his brow, she would laughingly pull at his braids and kiss away the frown, coaxing him with child-like affection until he could hold the humour no more. A smile would form at the corner of his mouth and his dark eyes begin to dance.

"Give over, woman!" He would proclaim with mock annoyance, pulling her into his arms and showering her with kisses. "You'll have me a soft old crone before I know it, I swear!"

He loved to hear Prue's cheerful chatter, it always amused him. Often so innocent and carefree and he, most often replying when required but seldom engaging in long conversation, much preferring to just listen to the sound of her voice.

His quietness never alarmed Prue; she understood his nature now, like no other. To her, it was just… Tristan. Yes, he _was_ a difficult man, but he had not won her heart with words.

Prue sighed; it was no good, he would sleep for hours yet. She decided to slip out and bring some food. She knew he would be starving; he wouldn't have eaten last night and from the looks & smell of him he most definitely hadn't bathed either. She would go to the village market and be back before he stirred, she was sure of it. Reluctantly easing herself from his arms, she stepped out of their bed and pulled her frock over her head. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair as she stepped across Tristan's discarded weapons & clothes.

She then grabbed her leather purse and basket from the table and crept quietly out of the door.

------------------

It was still very early and a beautiful morning. Prue bounced along swinging her basket, despite her lingering fatigue. She passed by the stables, through the courtyard and off down the short trail that led to the market square by the village.

All was beginning to stir now and life starting to busy away as it always did in the community. As she reached the square, the market was already bustling. She spent her time moving from one stall to the next, carefully picking out the ripest fruit & freshest bread she could. When finally satisfied with her choices, she turned to leave, eager to get back to her lovers side. But as she did so, she heard a voice call out to her though the lively market noise.

It was Vanora. They called out a friendly greeting to one another as she strolled over to Prue.

"You're up and about early Prue. I left the two boys snorin' away with Bors. Just fancied at bit a fresh air, I've been awful sick with this one" She said rubbing her swollen belly. "I reckon this one will be a girl, I never once felt this way, before! I hope it won't be like this for the next two moons, it's bloody awful, and my back, it's so painful!"

Prue smiled sympathetically and gave her friend a loving hug. As she let her go, she saw Vanora looking over her shoulder, her nose wrinkling up as she turned her attention back to her friend.

"I see _he's_ back then" Vanora commented in a dull voice.

Vanora didn't like Tristan, never had. She was at a complete loss to understand what on earth her friend saw in him. To her, he was nothing more than an unnatural, filthy brute and she genuinely worried about Prue. Even Bors's protests to the contrary were not enough to budge her mulish attitude and who should know Tristan better than he? Vanora could not believe that the Scout was actually capable of loving anything and therefore was sure that her friend was nothing more than a passing amusement for him and one he didn't have to pay for, at that! She'd heard the whores laughing about Prue and gossiping about what a relief it was that he no longer visited any of them! Well at least someone was happy, she had thought to herself.

It didn't help her opinions of Tristan any, that Prue had chosen him over Dagonet, either. That just beggared belief! The pain it had caused Dagonet fair near broke Vanora's heart. She was enormously fond of the big man, well all of the knights really-except _him_- so that just gave her even more excuse to dislike him.

"Yes, he is!" Prue enthused, her face lighting up "How did you know?"

"Because of you're pale, 'I didn't get much sleep last night' look. That and the fact he's over there, lurkin' away by the fruit cart." Vanora answered flatly.

"What!" Prue exclaimed, turning around to look in the direction her friend had nodded. Her eager eyes darted from one place to the next but Tristan was no where to be seen.

"He's snuck off round the back now!" Vanora replied slightly irritated and unimpressed.

Prue laughed and shook her head fondly. She should have known! He often did that. He liked to follow her around the markets, through the forests, around the keep, all over in fact. If she ever spied him it was because he wanted her too. But most times, when he finally pounced upon her, it was completely by surprise and usually scared poor Prue half to death. Tristan had a considerable enthusiasm for playing such games. It suited his humour and as he told her frequently, she was a much more satisfying prey to hunt than Woads.

Vanora, on the other hand, thought it perverse.

"He must have been awake all the time!" Prue mused light-heartedly.

"I don't know how you put up with it?" Vanora growled. "Spying on you all the time, it's unnatural if you ask me. _He's_ unnatural!"

Prue just laughed "He's not _spying_ on me, Vanora. He's just being…well…being 'Tristan' that's all! I can't help it if he can't keep his hands off me!" She chuckled "It's just a bit of fun, Vanora. You and Bors ought to try it sometime!"

"Huh!" retorted Vanora with a shudder. The thought of Tristan's hands on _anyone_ was enough to put her off her broth. "It's not normal…. I can't help it Prue, the way I feel. He always seems so moody & unpredictable to me, I worry about you, that's all."

"Well don't! You have no need, believe me. You just don't know him as I do."

"No, I do not, thank the Gods! What _do_ you see in him, girl?" Vanora asked despairingly.

Prue smiled and twisted her mouth in mock consideration. "Hhhhmmmm…….let me think…..it must be his inspiring gift for conversation!"

Both girls fell about laughing. Prue's tolerant humour, completely dispelling Vanora's heavy mood.

But their laughter was short lived, being interrupted quite abruptly, by a woman's loud mocking voice shouting at Prue from across the other side of the stall were they were stood.

"'Ere Prue! How's thatscary scout of yours? Me an' the girls were just saying how we haven't had him round for a while."

'Oh no' thought Prue wearily, as she readied herself for the familiar taunt.

"Is it still 'face to the wall and open wide!" the woman cackled hysterically "As fast as a greased hog he is! Quickest coin I ever earned! Girl, you must be fair near _gagging_ for a real man… hope he pays you well, at least!" Then she added with a low, malicious sneer "Bet you wished you'd taken Dag now, don't ya?"

The woman squawked with laughter again, joined by a few of the passers by who had caught the jibe. It was Morin, one of the prostitutes that worked their trade up around the keep.

Pillow talk – it wasn't uncommon for men to unburden their secrets upon the ears of a whore. Many sort out such women simply for the chance of a comforting shoulder. No doubt, this would be how Morin would have known about Dagonet. He would have spent many a lonely night in their arms, she was sure.

Prue pursed her lips and tried hard to ignore the searing remark as it cut painfully through her heart. It happened from time to time, she was used to it and it was no secret that Tristan had not had the most enviable reputation among the wenches. But it didn't make it any easier to hear.

Vanora on the other hand, swung round furiously and spat "Shut ya gob, you cheap trollop! Men just can't wait to be done with ya, is all! And who can blame 'em, with a face as ugly as yours?"

More laughter rippled among the market place as passers by had stopped to listen to the amusing spat. Finding the joke now turned upon herself though and much to the audience's disappointment, Morin decided against entering further into a brawl. Bullying the mousey Prue was one thing, but duelling with the hot tempered Vanora was quite another, with-child or no. She had a wickedly sharp mouth that one and more than a match for Morin. Sauntering off, she remarked acidly,

"Bitch!"

"Whore!" Vanora screamed back at the swaggering, retreating figure.

"Oh Vanora, don't! Just ignore it. She's not worth." Prue begged, beginning to feel quite mortified at the interest that began to stir among the crowds.

"No, maybe not, but you are! I'll not stand by and let the likes of her trash your man in front of ya."

Prue couldn't help but smile at the irony of those words. "Like you do, you mean"

"Yes well… I can, 'cause I'm your best friend!" Vanora began to bristle like an over-protective mother hen "I do it purely for your own good and because I love you."

Seeing a moment of sadness pass over Prue's face, she felt a sudden pang of guilt and simmering down swiftly she added "Oh Prue, I'm sorry… I shouldna talk of your man that way."

"Vanora" Prue shook her head, a slight smile returning to her lips. "I know it's only because you worry and you care….but he _is_ a good man, you know and he _does_ love me, truly he does"

Vanora sighed and gave her friend another hug. It was no use, she really just couldn't see it but there was no denying her friends happiness and for that she should be grateful, she knew.

"I'll see you later, my darlin'. Get off back to him then and tell him to let you get some damn rest, you look shattered… Bloody animal!" Vanora wandered off laughing aloud as Prue turned on her heel and set off back towards the Keep.

------------------

The prostitute strolled away with her head high and an arrogant sway on her hips, not bothering herself to reply to Vanora's last insult.

'Sarmatian whores!' She thought venomously. 'At least I get coin for servicing bald headed boars and stone-hearted freaks!' She gave out a wicked laugh at the thought, revelling in her own wit.

She continued on past an inviting barrel of green shiny apples next to a fruit stall. Brazenly, she stretched out her hand and swiftly took one from the top without as much as a pause in her stride. Unnoticed, as usual, she made her way in the direction of a clutter of stone workshops further along the village and away from the marketplace – a smug, satisfied smile set firmly upon her mouth.

She bit into the firm juicy fruit, savouring its deliciously sharp taste as she wandered past the Blacksmiths. She could feel the roaring heat of the smithy's furnace embracing her body and closed her eyes, enjoying its warmth.

She did not notice the dark figure hidden in the shadows of the gully between the buildings just ahead.

The bite of apple almost lodged in the woman's throat, virtually choking her, when the powerful hand clasped brutally across her mouth.

Quick as lightening, she felt herself swung from her feet and yanked back down in to the darkness of the narrow alley.

Having no time to react, she found herself slammed, face first against the stone wall with ruthless force. Knocking the breath from her body, an almost soundless cry was all that escaped from her, as vicious fingers seized hold of her long black hair and violently wrenched back her head, twisted it to the side and then thrust her cheek back up against the wall with equal ferocity.

The weight of the body behind held her fast against the stone as the woman then spied the glint of a shining blade coming up towards her.

Her body trembled with panic. She had been a victim of violence many times before, it came with the trade, but she knew who held her now and the knowledge terrified her.

The petrified woman felt the icy tip of the razor sharp steel beginning to trail very slowly up and down her ashen cheek.

"Who's been a bad girl then?" Hearing that familiar hissing growl sent a chill racing through her soul and a single tear began to gather, and then fall from her quivering lash. The blade caught the tear at the corner of her mouth and then traced its journey back up to the dark lashes from which it came.

She gave out a moan of terror as the knife gently brushed the tiny wet hairs along the length of her lid.

The hissing whisper, once more breathed with menacing calm upon her ear. "If you ever so much as breathe the same air as her again, I will give you a face that even a blind man won't pay for. Do you understand me?"

The horrified woman let out a desperate whimper and gave a trembling nod.

"Good girl" the frighteningly calm & quiet whisper continued "I'll be watching you."

A hand then enclosed itself around the apple that she still grasped in her quivering fingers.

"Did your mama never teach you that it's a sin to steal?"

The apple was snatched from her grip and he was gone.

------------------------

Prue was trotting past the stable when the inevitable hands flew out and pulled her into the shady building.

"Tristan!" she squealed, dropping her basket as he pulled her down upon the hay in a nearby stall, throwing the remains of a half eaten apple he had been munching across the way as he did so.

There it was quickly picked up and devoured by his faithful stallion who stood in his stall now much rested and revived.

"And where did my lady think she was running off to so early in the morning, pray tell?" He leant across her and began to lovingly kiss and nuzzle her neck.

"What are _you_ doing following me around the market, I thought you were asleep!" she said pushing him away and sitting her self back up. "I've missed you so much! Where have you been, Tristan? Were you hurt, did you eat properly, is everything alright, what happened?"

"Woman!" he exclaimed falling back on to the hay and rolling his mischievous eyes "Take a breath! You talk far too much than is good for you!"

"Well!" she replied in mock affront "Pardon me for giving a damn! Remind me not to bother, next time"

Laughing, Tristan reached back up, took hold of her shoulders and expertly eased her back down beside him. Running his hand beneath the hem of her frock, he slowly began to caress her warm, soft thighs. He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with love and desire "You know I love to hear your yakking, but right now it is your cries of passion I want ringing my ear!"

"Oh really?" she asked with a coy smile.

"Uh huh" he murmured between the hot kisses he was now bestowing upon her face and neck "You know you can't resist me"

"Oh not here, Tristan! I don't like it in here, I get spiders in my hair and the hay gets in the most….!"

Tristan silenced her with his mouth as he gently eased himself between her parting legs. His breeches already long since untied, he slid himself deep inside her deliciously warm, moist body with a blissful groan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you once again, _Lady Marek_ - I'm so pleased you like my image of Tristan, it means such alot to me. _Knightmaiden_, thank you very much - unfortunately Vanora formed her strong opinions about Tristan right from the beginning and only see's what most people do in Tristan- being the strong headed woman she is, it would take alot to change her feelings. Not that Tristan gives a damn what anyone else thinks about him.But who knows, maybe she'll open her eyes one day!**

**_Lucillaq _- no one messes with Tristan's woman and gets away with it! lol! I know how you feel about poor Dag, but he's just a lonely man, far from home and he needs comfort like anyone else. You'll forgive him, wont you? Thanks so much, I'm glad you're still enjoying this. _MWP -_ As always, thank you for all your kind words and encouragement, they mean so very much!**

**_Fashionista06_ - Hello! I'm thrilled your enjoying this story, many thanks! And to answer your other question, yes - there is definately more 'How Sweet The Rain' to come, I've just got myself so wrapped up in this one, I've decided to get Denial finished first and then I can concentrate better on the other.It won't be too long before I update!**

**CHAPTER 8**

The noise & mayhem in the tavern made Prue's head pound and she gave an exasperated sigh as she weaved in & out of the tables & dodged drunken bodies with her expert grace. It was a typical evening. All the Sarmatian Knights were home, there was a new relief of Roman legionnaires just arrived at the garrison and as a result the place was heaving.

Prue repeatedly heard the infectious, drunken laughter of Gawain, roaring above the merry racket as always and the sound of it made her smile despite the thump of her weary head. She knew instinctively that the source of his amusement would be Tristan performing his usual knife tricks and humiliating some unsuspecting raw Roman recruit at the target board. The looks on their faces as Tristan's blade flew effortlessly towards the board & embedded straight into the grip of their own well shot dagger's never failed to entertain Gawain and with every new assignment of soldiers, came another batch of green victims.

As she bent over the ale barrel to refill her flagon for the umpteenth time, Prue let out another disparaging sigh. She was feeling none too well again and longed to go back to her room and sleep.

"What ails you,Prue?" asked Vanora through the din as she approached to refill at the same moment. She had noticed her friends increasing pallor and lethargy with concern over the last couple of weeks. Prue seemed distracted and worried, but try as she might, Vanora could get no reason from her.

"I'm fine, just tired is all." Prue answered drawing her sleeve across her forehead, wiping away the tiny beads of perspiration that trickled there.

"Is it _him_? Keeping you up all night, I suppose." Vanora said flatly, giving a haughty nod in the general direction of the scout.

"No. it's not Tristan." Prue sighed as she shot her friend a weary smile.

"You should get off & get some rest" Vanora ordered, sounding like her usual mothering self. "You'll be all the better for it"

"I'll do nothing of the sort! I can't leave you to tend to this mob on your own!" Prue exclaimed stubbornly "It should be you going home to rest Vanora, for pity's sake! It's been hardly a week since you gave birth!" Wanting to hear no more talk of leaving her duties, Prue heaved up the heavily filed flagon and turned around to continue serving the tables

"Oh, I'm fine me! Strong as an ox, you know that!" Vanora shouted after her, laughing loudly. Yes, she was strong as an ox despite her delicate appearance. An incredible woman, who after bearing three children still looked as pretty & petite as she did on that first day she met her man, Bors. "It's _you_ that worries me!"

"I'll be alright, everything will be alright" called back Prue as she walked away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Vanora eyed her friend suspiciously, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched her retreating figure making it's way over to Tristan & Gawain. It was then Vanora caught sight of Morin, the wench she had clashed with at the market some weeks ago. She hadn't shown her face around the tavern for some time since their little spat, but tonight, there she sat in a far corner along with two rather thick set, ominous looking traveller types. They were not men of the village, least ways, Vanora did not know them and she knew just about every local settler at the wall. She supposed they would be merchants, traders or the like. Just passing through, as many of them did.

Morin was cackling away & draping herself invitingly over the pair of them. Vanora saw her nod in the direction of Prue as she passed by and the two men turned to look, followed by the rumble smug laughter which ensued amongst the trio.

"Cheeky bloody, wench!" Vanora thought angrily to herself. She considered going over to her and wiping that smug smile right off her face, but Morin stopped laughing suddenly and Vanora watched as she slowly got up from the table and skulked away, beckoning the two men to follow, saving her the job.

-

Tristan was stood behind a seated Gawain, awaiting his next throw at the target when he noticed the prostitute sat laughing in the corner with the two strangers.

His head tilting slightly down, his hawk-eyes glaring through his tangled long hair, he gave a dark foreboding stare in her direction. It didn't take long before Morin sensed his sinister gaze and looking back at the Scout, the smile slipped rapidly from her face and she knew instinctively, it was time to leave.

After being satisfied that the whore was gone, Tristan turned his attention to the approach of his lady, expertly meandering in and out of the crowded inn, not once spilling a drop. He watched, his dark eyes unfaltering as Prue stopped by Dagonet and filled his outstretched mug. Tristan saw the smiles and their easy, familiar exchange. He felt the prickle of jealousy as Dagonet took Prue's hand in his and then she laughed and leant over to kiss his shaven head. Suspicion began to creep into his thoughts, his eyes narrowed and a disturbing darkness swept his brow.

Something wasn't right, hadn't been for a short while now. Could the reason really be Dagonet? Maybe there had been truth in Morin's words that day at the market. Did Prue sometimes wish she had taken Dagonet instead of him? He'd never doubted her love before, ever. But those words had nevertheless planted a seed of uncertainty that would never have spawned had it not been tended by Prue's recent curious behaviour towards him.

She had refused him again this morning. He had gently reached out for her and she had pushed him away. He had respected her wishes and not pressed her, albeit with a touch of irritation, but the shame of what he had done to her on that night in the tavern kitchen a long time gone, had always haunted him. He would never dare to push his intentions upon her, but this latest spate of rejection wounded him deeply.

She had never once referred to the offence since that night and he knew she had given her unreserved forgiveness - which did not help to heal his deep and painful feelings of guilt. Some times he wished she would throw it in his face and shame him with it, for it was no less than he deserved. But of course, he knew she would not. He could not forgive himself and never would, even if Prue had and this guilt would forever be one emotion he would struggle in vain to keep locked away within himself.

-

Dagonet held out his mug as Prue poured his ale. She seemed so drawn and tired lately and Dagonet couldn't help but show his concern.

"Is something ailing you, Prue?" he asked gently, as always. Prue looked into his troubled eyes and smiled warmly. Trust Dagonet to be the one to worry.

"No Dag, I'm quite well" She laughed, but the smile upon her face could not hide the apathy in her look. He reached out and took her hand.

He looked deep and with earnest into her eyes. "I'm always here for you, you know that don't you?"

Prue leant over and kissed his head affectionately. "I know, my dear brother and I love you for it. But worry not, for I shall be just fine." She whispered lovingly and then walked on.

Prue now reached the table where sat Gawain, opposite a young Roman soldier, one of the many from the relief unit that had arrived at the wall the previous day. Behind Gawain stood Tristan, still watchful of her every move. She cast a glance towards the scout and wrinkled her nose playfully in response to his stern gaze. Tristan immediately relaxed, relief flooding through him. That one simple look from her was all it took to chase away the demons of doubt. He was such a damned fool sometimes, what had he been thinking?

"You beauty, Prue! Your timing is impeccable!" Roared Gawain, as he slapped her rump playfully. Prue let out a startled giggle and setting the heavy flagon down, grabbed the knight's golden whiskers and ruffled them mischievously, laughing

"Keep your hands to yourself, Sir or you shall be wearing this ale, I swear"

"Ah, more ale!… About time, wench!" laughed the young Roman opposite, seeing Prue now filling Gawain's mug.

"Patience man, I've only one pair of hands, you know!" Prue laughed back as she leaned forward in front of him and began to fill another empty mug upon the table.

The young soldier eyed the swell of Prue's breasts admiringly as she did so and encouraged by Gawain's banter with the wench he went on

"Hmmmm… I wouldn't mind getting to know that one pair of hands of yours a bit better" he smirked cheekily as he dropped a shiny coin into her inviting cleavage, his fingers lingering momentarily between her warm bosom. "What d'ya say?"

Prue gave a sardonic smile, plucked out the coin & dropping it into the Soldiers ale replied dryly

"Sorry, darlin'.This girl's not for sale!"

Gawain shifted deliberately in his seat, his eyes wide and amused, knowing full well what was going to happen next.

Just as Gawain anticipated, Tristan reached across the table from behind him with incredible speed. He grabbed hold of the soldiers head and slammed him face-down, hard upon the wooden table top – the mugs and ale flaying everywhere.

Prue, terrified, immediately dropped the flagon in her hand and screamed loudly. "Tristan! Stop it, Stop it! For Gods sake leave him alone….Gawain do something!"

Gawain had no intention of intervening. He stood up quickly, reached over and took hold of Prue's arm pulling her back out of harms way, whilst at the same time signalling over to Lancelot, Bors, Galahad and Dagonet at the other side of the room. On hearing Gawain's familiar shrill whistle the knights all looked immediately to the ruckus. Leaving their ale and dice, without word or thought, all four were by Gawain's side in an instant, blades drawn from their leather and holding back any possible attempt of interference from the soldier's comrades.

"Do we have a problem?" Bors growled pointing his weapon threateningly at the gathering crowd who immediately stepped nervously back away from the knights in response.

Whatever Tristan's argument, they would see to it he settled it in his own way and in his own time.

Prue clawed desperately at Gawain's hands and attempted to make a grab for Tristan and pull him off the Roman herself, but Gawain held her fast.

By now, Tristan had dragged the dazed, blood splattered soldier across the table and swiftly turned him on to his back, a glistening and razor sharp blade pressed firmly against the man's throat.

"That's my woman…._you filthy, Roman bastard_." Tristan hissed between his clenched teeth "Apologise to the Lady"

One or two of the young men looked to the knights and then back to Tristan nervously, but still none dared to interfere.

The battered soldier gave out a moan, blood pumping from the jelly-like mass that was once a fine Roman nose. The warm sticky liquid was stinging his eyes & filling his throat and he was almost choking.

"I...I…I'm sorry..." he gurgled and coughed, blood spluttering from his rapidly swelling mouth.

Tristan withdrew his knife & left the soldier lying there as swiftly as he had pounced upon him, content that the man now knew his place.

The crowds slowly and reluctantly began to disperse and Tristan's fellow knights relaxed slightly, replacing their blades once they were content there were to be no would-be heroes

"What's bin going on here?" Dagonet asked, confused, as he looked from Prue to Gawain and then back at Tristan.

"Good grief, Tristan! What have you been up to now? Who's going to clean this mess up?" came the bemused inquiry from Lancelot

"VANORA!" Bors roared.

Ignoring Lancelot and the others, Tristan turned to look at Prue. She had wriggled free from Gawain's grasp and now stood staring at him in horrified disbelief. He made a move towards her but instead she turned quickly away and pushed her way hurriedly through the crowds. Tristan immediately flew after her.

------

He caught her in the courtyard. Grabbing her arm he pulled her round to face him. She was crying, utterly sickened by Tristan's gratuitous attack & could not raise her eyes to meet his.

"Don't run away from me, woman. Look at me! Look at me, damn you!" He growled, shaking her a little whilst desperately trying to capture her gaze.

"Or what? You'll give _me_ a good beating as well!" Prue shouted back, immediately regretting it as soon as the words fell from her lips. That was not fair and she knew it. But she was upset and angry and knew those words would hurt him. Tristan stared at her in confused disbelief.

"I would _never_ lay a hand on _you_" He answered, his voice a slow intense whisper. "He insulted you, Prue. What do you expect me to do? You're my girl for Gods sake!" he implored as, letting go of her arm, he took her face tenderly but resolutely in both of his hands and made her look in to his eyes.

"He didn't know that, Tristan! He only arrived yesterday!" Prue snapped back at him, defiantly peeling away his fingers from her cheeks and then turning her back on him as she did so.

"Well he knows it now" Tristan grumbled quietly with a shrug.

That she had extracted herself from his embrace and now stood firmly with her back towards him, struck Tristan with an even deeper, more painful stab of rejection and he began to feel quite wretched.

"He meant no harm!" Prue continued angrily as she swung back round to once again face him. "I deal with that sort of thing all the time – I work in a tavern, it's to be expected! Do you suppose every poor sod that walks in to know I belong to you! I can handle it well enough on my own, thank you very much! I don't need you beating them half to death over a few innocent remarks!"

"He put his hands on you…_You're my woman_!" Prue could hear the anger start to rise in Tristan's voice but paid no heed. He was wrong and she was not going to give in over this one.

"Your woman! Huh!" She snorted "Keep on like this, Tristan and you won't have a woman, believe me!"

He knew it was an empty threat but it hurt him all the same. Surprisingly for Prue, he did not answer her straight away. She had expected a blazing row to ensue as Tristan was never wrong and there was never any arguing with him, stubborn, proud man that he was!

Instead, his next line caught Prue completely off guard as, arresting his growing anger he answered, calmly and quietly once more.

"I can't help the way I am, you should know that by now, my Lady. Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

She couldn't help herself, her heart soared at his words. Just as he knew it would.

Seeing the hurt look in Tristan's deep brown eyes as he gazed down at her, swiftly melted her anger, replacing it with loving compassion. She could do no more than to reach up and kiss him and doing so, she felt his arms eagerly wrap around her as he clasped her tightly to his firm body, desperate that she should want him again, needing so much to know that she still loved and desired him.

Tristan hungrily tasted her embrace with his own warm delicious mouth, his relief and excitement growing as he sensed her response. He reached up and wound his long slender fingers through her hair, pulling back her head to expose her neck as he continued to caress her gently with his teeth and lips, kissing away the trail of angry tears that lay there. Prue let out a sigh at the touch of his hot breath upon her, then...

"Tristan!" The scout stopped dead at the sound of Arthur's angry voice "Tristan! I shall speak with you…. Now!"

Grudgingly letting Prue go, Tristan rolled his eyes with annoyance and licking the taste of her tears from his lips, he turned to his Commander and gave a quiet, restrained confirmation of the order.

"Tristan... what am I going to do with you?" Prue said shaking her head with a wry smile on her lips. He always won her round in the end, no matter what. She was forever powerless to stay angry with him.

"Go sort this mess out with Arthur" she urged, affectionately stroking the whiskers upon his chin "I'll be waiting for you back at the room. There's something I need to tell you. It's about time."

With that, Tristan reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair away from Prue's eyes. He looked at her for a moment, an intrigued frown upon his brow, as if searching for answers in her gaze. Finding none he gave a little huff, nodded & turned to follow Arthur.

Prue trotted off in the opposite direction.

Neither noticed the shadows lurking just beyond the stable.


	9. Chapter 9

**Many, many thanks to you guys for reading and reviewing, as always. It's greatly appreciated and most welcome. **

**This is the penultimate chapter .**

**WARNING: this chapter contains bad language and violence – if this offends, please do not read!**

**Chapter 9**

It wasn't just the growing chill in the night air that caused a tremble to shiver through Prue's tired body as she sat upon the bed waiting for her lover's return.

She could keep it from him no longer, she knew that. The child had been growing inside her for almost three months. How he hadn't noticed by now was beyond her, but then her figure was so slight and the pregnant curve of her belly hardly formed at all. And besides, the last couple of weeks she had felt so tired and unwell that there had been little intimacy between the two of them with Prue, more often than not, pushing her bewildered lover away with some or other grumpy refusal of his advances.

He would say nothing, as always, which irritated her even more. If he'd have complained or asked what was wrong, then it would have opened the pathway for her to tell. But no, trust him to make things difficult for her.

She hadn't meant to keep it from him for this long, but the time had just never seemed right to tell him and deep down, she hoped he would eventually just guess and save her from this moment.

'As if!' She thought to herself with a weary smile.

When it began to dawn on Prue that she could well be with child, she had hardly dared to hope that it be true. She had begun to believe it possible she would never know motherhood - a whole four seasons had come and gone by and nothing. With the passing of each new moon came the knowledge that this again, would not be the time and it had become more and more difficult for Prue to stay the ever growing pain of disappointment.

Bors only had to drop his breeches, Vanora always laughed and she had a swollen belly before he could hitch them back up again!

Prue gave a little smile at the thought of Bors. What a proud father he was, how he loved his Vanora and their ever growing brood! Would Tristan be the proud father?

At the turn of thought, Prue felt another anxious flutter within. She had no idea what he would feel and that scared her most of all. Never once had he ever mentioned her bearing his children. Not even a whisper of surprise that she hadn't fallen yet and he certainly showed no interest whatsoever in Bors's.

What would he say? Would he be ecstatic…angry…indifferent? Would he say anything at all? Would he change toward her, become distant and cold, not wanting the baggage of brats around his neck? Would he even care one way or the other?

To Prue, the tiny, innocent life that now grew inside her was the complete embodiment of their love. The wonder she felt at finally nurturing that precious love within herself and the prospect of one day soon, holding it in her arms, filled her with such incredible joy. That Tristan might not feel as she did tore at her heart relentlessly. Her very doubting of him alone, left Prue feeling wretched at how little she really knew her man. She was failing miserably at her first test of faith in his love and she hated herself for it.

Prue bit down upon her lip and shivered once more. Forcing her fears away, she glanced toward the cold stone fireplace. She should light a fire, she thought; bring warmth into the room before Tristan returned following the reprimand from Arthur.

She hoped desperately that he would not come back to her in one of his dark moods, irritable from the dressing down he was no doubt receiving. She had neither the energy nor the frame of mind to be coaxing him out from one of his tight-lipped moody humours, tonight.

Prue got up with a sigh and left the room to fetch logs to build a fire.

There was a chilled stillness to the air that night and apart from the low murmur of voices and laughter from the tavern across the way, all seemed silent.

Prue strolled across the courtyard and past the stable entrance. The horses within seemed a little more agitated than was usual, their restless hoofs rustling back and to upon the crisp hay. She heard them snort and murmur their irritation a little, but paid little heed to it.

Turning the corner, Prue made her way down the dark, shadowy gully next to the stable were the wood pile stood and began gathering what she needed.

When the hand clasped tightly around her mouth, Prue's first startled thought was of Tristan playing his usual games but almost immediately she knew it was not her lover that held her so. The hand was thick and coarse and the first reek of its sickly sweet filth made Prue almost retch. The logs in her arms clattered to the ground as panic raged through her body and she clawed frantically at the hands that held her silent and almost suffocating in their stench. The terrified woman began to fight and kick with every breath in her body.

"Get 'er down for fuck's sake!" a course, cruel voice hissed desperately " 'old 'er still, will ya, ya dumb bastard!"

Prue, still fighting and scratching desperately, knew now there were two of them, but she could see nothing in the darkness of the night, except their murky shadows groping frantically in the darkness.

"She's like a fuckin' wild cat!"

Prue's frantic screams were muffled all too well beneath her attacker's grasp. She then felt herself being dragged forcibly backwards and tried desperately to dig her heels into the hard ground.

There followed another barrage of angry snarls as she caught sight of the shadowy figure of the second man scrambling about in front of her, making a grab for her legs. Prue gave another muffled cry and began furiously bucking her body, kicking and clawing with all her might, fighting fiercely to free the grip that held her and at the same time, keep the other attacker at bay.

"Keep the whore still, will ya!" the first man growled viciously, the panic in his voice beginning to rise, anxious now that sound of the woman's irrepressible struggling could attract unwanted attention.

Without any more delay, the dark silhouette before her, swung back his foot and with one brutal kick, she became still.

Every breath left her body with the sickening thud. Prue felt searing pain tearing through her belly and ravaging her delicate frame as her legs buckled and then gave way. She was drowning in the agony. Her head spun wildly as she battled the pain and nausea that engulfed her.

Completely helpless now, she could do no more than gasp frantically for air, as tears of anguish flowed down her grey, colourless cheeks. No longer did she fight and scream. The only sound was of her breathless whimpering as she lay slumped and motionless in her aggressor's arms.

"Y'sure thisbe the one she said?"

"Well I ain't wasting this chance if it ain't, I'll go first, and you keep 'old of her in case she starts again. Get her round the back o' the stable"

Dragging her limp, almost lifeless body further into the shadows, Prue cried piteously within as she felt her dress being torn up to her waist and the appalling touch of calloused hands groping roughly at her thighs and spreading her legs.

Grunting with lustful excitement, the man began fumbling anxiously with the ties of his breeches. The throbbing was almost killing him now and he ached with longing to thrust himself into her motionless body. Both men were slavering like filthy, rabid dogs, one urging the other on impatiently, desperate for his own chance.

"Mmmm, she smells so sweet…" Prue could do nothing as the animal bared down upon her, his eyes wild and his foul smelling mouth twisted and drooling in a sickly grimace of lust. Her mind wept silently with pain and desperation as she tumbled ever deeper into a pool of terror and despair.

It was at that moment an arm shot around his head from behind and with an effortless twist, a stomach-churning crack was heard as his neck broke. His accomplice, still bobbing excitedly as he held on to Prue's arms, stopped dead in disbelief. His open mouthed expression never once altered as he stared at his friend slumping unceremoniously to the floor. As realisation dawned, the man gave a yell of panic and releasing Prue, he began his desperate attempt to scramble to his feet and flee for his life.

He never got more than two strides when the blade whistled silently through the air and embedded deep between his shoulder blades with a satisfying thud. He fell to his knees, letting out a terrified cry as he did so. Tristan strode swiftly over to his target. Grabbing the man's head in one hand, with the other he drew out the knife. Then, reaching around with expert precision, he stuck the blade into the man's neck and slowly and effortlessly, severed from ear to ear. The dying man gurgled and shook as the life drained from his body. Tristan felt the warm thick flow of his blood trickling over his hand and with a grunt of satisfaction; he pushed the body roughly to the ground.

Tristan stood quite still and did not move for a few seconds, his enraged mind taking time to take in the scene around him. He recognised these men. They were the strangers he had seen with Morin in the tavern earlier that night.

His dark, smouldering fury was suddenly broken with the sound of a soft, gasping cry from behind him. Turning back sharply, Tristan went swiftly to his ladies side.

Cursing violently under his breath and wasting no time at all, Tristan gathered Prue up in his arms and strode hurriedly out to the courtyard.

Once there he yelled out several times for Dagonet .The big man appeared quickly before him confused and bewildered at the desperate sound of Tristan's call.

"What is wrong, Tristan? I heard you call, what ..…" it was then he realised Tristan held Prue in his arms and the look of distress on the scout's face sent an instant panic through him.

"My God, What's happened?" The big man demanded fearfully as he ran over towards them.

"Help me, Dag! They've hurt her bad, I fear." Tristan growled, angry and desperate.

"Who did this?" Dagonet demanded again, a deep fury mounting in his voice. Tristan motioned his head toward the gully where the bodies lay hidden by the shadows. He gave Dagonet a steady knowing look which left the man in no doubt they had been dealt with. Dagonet did not stop to ask anymore questions but instead instructed Tristan to get her quickly to their room and he would follow directly. Dagonet went straight away to enlist Vanora's help instructing her calmly and clearly of everything he required. He would wait for her in Tristan's room. he told her,

"Make sure you bring everything I have asked for and tell Bors to inform Arthur." Were his last words to the shocked and distraught Vanora as he made his way quickly back to Tristan's quarters.

Tristan laid Prue gently upon the bed and crouched beside her, enfolding one of her little hands between both of his own. She gripped his fingers like a vice as the pain seared mercilessly through her body in frequent rhythm. Tristan looked on, his face dark and hard set, feeling helplessness and fury like he had never felt before. As he watched her writhe in pain, he felt the irrepressible rage bursting within and he battled furiously against its growth lest it explode, right there and then. His body almost shook in frenzy. His jaw clenched, the muscles flexing painfully. Only once before had his self-control been put through such a trial. He had to stay his rage; he knew that. She needed him now.

There would be time enough soon, for retribution.

At that moment the door swung open and Dagonet strode swiftly in and straight to Prue's side. He was the nearest thing the knights had to a healer and only man Tristan would trust with his woman's life. Despite or maybe because of (if Tristan were truly honest) the fact that he knew what she still meant to his friend. Dagonet had never stopped loving Prue, Tristan knew that. He could still see it in his eyes to that very moment. Tristan saw everything, but said nothing. She had chosen him and that was enough.

"Prue, listen to me" Dagonet began as he gently stroked her clammy forehead "Where did they hurt you, I need to know?"

Prue tried desperately to speak but instead she was suddenly engulfed in yet another wave of agonising pain and she cried out bitterly as she crumpled herself up into a ball, futilely gripping her stomach in a frantic attempt to quell the pain. Dagonet needed no more sign.

"Do something Dag!" Tristan hissed "She's in pain for pity's sake, man"

"I can see that Tristan." Dagonet retorted angrily. "Just keep her calm, best you can. Leave me to the rest."

He was hurting every bit as much as the Scout. To see Prue in such distress and pain was agony to him and he had to help her. He could not have Tristan snapping at his heels over it. That he would do all that was in his power, was irrefutable.

Within a short while Vanora had arrived with all that Dagonet had requested. Tristan had built a fire quickly on his friend's demand and Dagonet had speedily set to preparing his usual willow tea with which he hoped he could subdue Prue's agony.

The pain kept on and on. Prue thrashed and squirmed, whimpering and crying out as Dagonet tried to ease her distress. But every time he pushed the sour brew to her lips she would knock it away.

Although he kept his silence on the matter, it didn't look good to Dagonet; he felt fear for her in the depths of his soul. So much pain, so pale – he didn't like this, not one bit.

Before long, Prue felt the inevitable warm, damp flow between her legs as she fought in vain to cling on to her baby's life.

Dagonet saw the deep wet stain creeping its way through Prue's dress and over the blanket she lay upon.

"Christ man! Why didn't you tell me she was with child?" Dagonet snapped angrily at Tristan.

The scout looked blankly back at Dagonet, his face pale and drawn. Dagonet had never seen Tristan look so wretched, his eyes clouded with anguish and confusion. He hadn't known.

Dagonet raised his brow in disbelief.

"NO, no, no, no…!" Prue cried out as she clasped her hands between her legs in a sad, desperate attempt to stop the heavy flow. "Tristan… help me…!" she sobbed.

Tristan almost fell apart as the revelation began to unfold in his mind; this was more than even he could bear. Sinking on his knees beside her he gathered her up and held her tightly in his arms. His heart fell to pieces as she clung desperately to him. Burying his face into her hair he wept and pleaded to whomever - he did not know - to have pity and release her from this agony.

------------------

Before long the contractions had subsided and Prue lay despairing and exhausted in Tristan's arms.

Tristan gently stroked and kissed her hair.

"Our baby" Prue whispered over and over again "I'm so sorry, Tristan"

Tristan comforted her tenderly. Telling her again and again that she was not to blame, that she was safe now and that he would never let anyone hurt her, ever again.

Vanora stood by the fire with Dagonet, preparing another vat of hot water with which to bathe her friend. The worst seemed over to her now and she must try to give whatever comfort she could. She watched, quietly and unobserved, the tenderness with which Tristan now soothed and reassured the heart-broken Prue.

She felt shame that she had ever doubted Tristan's love for her friend. Seeing them together now, remembering the sound of Tristan's tears, his helplessness, and the heartbroken look he now bore. No one could deny his devotion. How could she have been so wrong? She had judged this man ill, of that she was certain. And she was so sorry for it.

As Prue lay in the comfort of Tristan's arms, he seemed so reassuringly strong to her, but inside he was dying. His head throbbed and his heart ached. He felt desolate and stunned. She had been carrying a child, _their_ child. Such a precious gift she had to give him and now it had been stolen away, just like everything in his life. He felt he truly was a cursed man. How could he have let this happen? This was all the result of his own thoughtless, violent actions. He knew who had attacked her and why. Once again, she was the innocent victim of his wrong doing.

But he would make them pay for this.

"The water is hot now," Vanora spoke gently, not wishing to intrude upon their sorrow. As Tristan looked up at her, Vanora felt her heart break once again at the look of utter despair on the scout's face face. He nodded his understanding and then with one more embrace, Tristan gently laid Prue down. She needed washing and fresh blankets. Vanora would see to that, she was in good hands – there was something he must see to and it could wait no longer.

Tristan suddenly stood up and made a move to leave.

Both Vanora and Dagonet stared at him, almost astonished. But then they both saw the frighteningly dark temper that now shrouded his face. Vanora felt a chill run down her spine, overwhelmed by the terrifyingly rapid switch of his mood.

"I'll be back soon" he muttered, emotionless." Unfinished business-say nothing"

Dagonet stared at the scout for a second, a little puzzled, then gave him a nod and turned his attention to Prue. Tristan had his reasons. Whatever they were, they were his own, and Dagonet would not question them.

Vanora lowered her head in accord; she knew now, where he was going. She had seen the bodies left in the gully earlier that evening and she too recognised the filth that lay there.

Tonight she and Tristan were to share a secret that Vanora would speak of to no one, not even Bors, for the rest of her life.


	10. Final Chapter

**Final Chapter**

The hour was getting late now and Tristan had been gone some time. Prue was deathly pale and silent and her breathing becoming increasingly more shallow and weak. Vanora prayed desperately that it was just shock and exhaustion – Dagonet knew it were more.

He could see she was deteriorating before him and he was powerless to stop it. Experience told him all too well that more than the loss of her child had resulted from that single brutal blow she had suffered.

He wished desperately that Tristan would return. If ever there had been a time when she needed him, it was now.

Vanora watched as Dagonet kept unfaltering vigil over their patient.

"She'll be right as rain come morning, Dag – you'll see" She offered gently. Vanora felt she must speak some word of reassurance, as much for her own peace of mind, as well as his. She knew how much he cared for Prue, it was natural he should worry so. But as Dagonet turned his head to face her, the fearful look that shrouded his eyes sent her cold.

"She's lost a lot of blood, Vanora," He said quietly as he met Vanora's gaze "I fear she still bleeds."

"No Dag, she will rally, you know that? She just needs rest, that's all" Vanora replied shakily, helpless to stop the tears gathering. She could not allow herself to believe that Prue might die. Dagonet had to be wrong.

Dagonet did not reply. Instead he turned back to Prue and began gently, to coax her to speak.

When she did not respond, Dagonet spoke once again and this time her lashes fluttered open and a shadow of a smile passed her pale blue lips.

"Dag..." she whispered weakly "dear Dag..." Dagonet smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss her cool, clammy brow.

Hearing the distant sound of Dagonet's deep and gentle voice had pulled Prue from her inner sanctuary, where she tried vainly to seek refuge from her torment.

Her body still racked with a burning pain that had slowly but surely began to creep it's way through her tiny frame until it had rendered her so helpless and weak, that she could no longer fight it. The only movement now, was from a tiny tear that trickled down her ashen cheek and came to rest on the corner of her lips.

Where was Tristan? She cried inside. She was frightened and she needed him. She so desperately wanted Tristan. She tried to call out his name but as she did so another wave of overwhelming agony took hold of her frail and broken body once more and a pitiful moan was all that left her lips.

And then, just as she felt the agony would tear her in two - there was peace.

-----

Tristan had walked back into their room just as the panic had begun to subside and unbearable grief had replaced it.

Vanora had cried out as the blood had once again begun to spill rapidly forth from her dying friend's body and Dagonet had scrambled about desperately trying to stem the flow, even though knowing any attempt to be futile. It had all been over so quickly, leaving the two heartbroken friends, shattered and stunned.

Tristan stood motionless in the doorway. The tunic he wore bore the dark, damp tarnish of another's suffering. At his neck, could be seen the faint trails of blood oozing from the claw marks of someone's desperate grasp as they had tried vainly to hold on to life.

He stood silent as his throbbing mind and crumbling heart took in the unbelievable scene that met him.

Prue was in her last moments of life, her breathing shallow and slowing gently.

"I'm so sorry Tristan…" was all Dagonet could say, the tears already falling.

"Get out" he murmured, his voice nothing more than a broken whisper.

Dagonet gently took hold of the weeping and distraught Vanora and quietly did as he bade them.

**------**

The agonising cry of devastation echoed terrifyingly across the courtyard. Vanora, who sat across the way in hopeless vigil, stood up and took a sharp intake of breath. For a few moments she could neither move nor make a sound. Prue was gone.

Vanora felt her legs give way as she fell into the strong arms of Bors. She sobbed uncontrollably as he held her tightly and whispered words of comfort and sorrow.

The fellow knights, who had all come together and sat waiting in solemn respect for their brother, lowered their heads. On hearing Tristan's cry, Arthur stepped forward in order to go to aid of his scout but he was stayed by Lancelot's firm hand upon his shoulder.

Looking at Arthur from beneath his dark brow he said.

"No Arthur! Leave them be." His gaze unyielding, he continued, a thin veil of contempt lacing his tone "The words of your _merciful_ and _righteous_ God will not be welcome this night."

Arthur stared gravely back at his first knight for a moment, knowing his words to be true. With a nod of reluctant compliance, he turned and walked sombrely back to his quarters.

No one seemed to notice the devastated Dagonet slip quietly away - his own personal grief, unseen by all those around.

------

All through the long night hours, Tristan held her limp, lifeless body in his arms, weeping in silent torment as he rocked her gently and kissed her now cold and ashen face -never once letting her slip from his grasp.

It wasn't until the first rays of the dawn sun came creeping through the shadows of the room that Tristan finally laid her down.

The sunlight now shone gently across her face. She looked so peaceful to Tristan as he reached out and brushed away a whisper of hair that had fallen across her resting lashes.

A quiet, tranquil sorrow had now enclosed itself around Tristan's heart. The morning sun had calmed Tristan's raging torment and his sanity was now returning. Tristan knew that the time for their last farewell had arrived.

He sat and lovingly stroked the length of her long hair and smiled to himself as he remembered how she had so relentlessly pursued his attention from the very day their eyes had met. He'd been such a stubborn, surly brute and yet never once had she faltered. If only he'd realised then what happiness she was to bring into his life, he swore he would have swept her up off her feet and claimed her as his own from that very first day.

After a moments thought, he reached for the blade at his belt and gently cut a lock of her long tawny hair and then carefully began to weave it within his own. Binding them together for always with a thin leather lace he cut from the neck of his tunic, Tristan left the single long braid of hair to rest comfortingly upon his shoulder.

With one last kiss upon her lips he whispered

"Wait for me, my lady. I will be along soon"

He then stood and walked out of the room into the brilliant morning sunshine.

-----

Tristan laid Prue to rest on the banks of the hill over looking the South road. Vanora wanted it that way. It was, she said, their special place and that Prue would be happy there. They had spent many wonderful times there as children and in the years beyond. Indeed, was it not the very place they had laid side by side together gigging with excitement and watched for the first time, the approach of the Sarmatian knights and with them, their destiny?

On the afternoon that followed Prue's death, another grim discovery had been made by a young Roman guard in search of a little female company. He had called upon the prostitute, Morin, only to find her twisted broken body lying in a pool of her own blood. She been beaten badly and her throat severed, the rumours said. It had been a slow, torturous death, by all accounts and her suffering profuse.

Arthur had made the enquiries and Vanora had gone forward to say that she had indeed seen Morin in the tavern that night, with the same two men who had attacked her friend and she believed they must have been the culprits. 'Maybe she hadn't performed to their standard,' she had added bitterly.

Arthur was satisfied with that and saw no more reason to investigate. Besides, the life of a common prostitute was of little concern to the Romans. Vanora had left his quarters with a sigh of relief.

------

Tristan stood alone and quiet beside the earth that held his lady - serene and dignified. His hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed to his chest.

He felt a warm breeze ensue, enticing him from his silent grief. He lifted his head high so as to feel its welcome caress upon his face. Closing his eyes for a moment he fancied he could smell his lady's scent once again and feel the warmth of her delicate fingers whisper across his cheek.

He stood captivated, when all of a sudden came the beckoning cry of a hawk up on high.

Opening his eyes, he watched her circle the clouds above him, sounding her haunting call once more.

A faint, sad smile passed the scout's lips. One day, he knew she would call for _him_ that way and he would look to the skies and follow her willingly - to be delivered into the comfort of his lady's waiting arms.

But until that day came, he would seek out death upon every battlefield he fought and when he found it, he would embrace it with dignity and grace.

**The End**

**And so ends the story of Tristan and Prue.**

**Grateful thanks to all of you who have read my story and thanks again to every one who has taken time to review. I know that maybe this isn't the end that some of you would have wanted but as you all know, we have to go where the muse takes us! It makes his death seem just that little easier to bear for me, thinking that maybe now, he has found his peace. I hope no one's too disappointed. **

**I would love to know what you all thought of this, my first long story.**


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